


A Real Boy

by outlawserenade



Series: The Mages of Gotham [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: AND SHENANIGANS, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Magi!AU, Multi, Tim gets a familiar who's... too familiar, characters to be added as they appear, there shall be villains
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-04-05 13:13:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 50,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14045007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outlawserenade/pseuds/outlawserenade
Summary: One day, according to mother's notes, he, too, will get a familiar. It could take one out of hundreds of forms, his researches has showed him. And usually manifested around the time he turned sixteen - which should be in a few weeks. Knowing his general shit-luck, he figured that it would not be anything spectacular like a dragon, a white wolf, or a raven, or a bat. Not even a cat. It would probably end up as a lizard or a slug.Either way, they would be important, Tim knew - a familiar will enhance his powers and help him with just about everything. He should take care of it until... well, forever, really. Until it's his time to pass on, or get killed....so why is it looking like he'll end up with the latter scenario?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is for day 3 of the JayTim Week 2018. It's still a WIP, and it has quite a number of chapters already. I'll post the chapters as series after the JayTim Week is done. =)

**Day 3: ~~Arranged Marriage~~ // Fantasy AU**

The day the fae people left Gotham, Tim Drake decided, was definitely the day when the skies turned dark and gloomy and icky, sparing only enough oxygen and other necessities for the people within to remain alive - healthy being an option.

He didn't know when, exactly - Tim was far too young to have seen it on his own. Some said it was the day the protectors of Gotham, Lord Thomas and Lady Martha Wayne - the last to hold and wear the Old World's royal titles, were murdered brutally and traitorously by a commoner as they strolled past the theater, leaving their young son behind. Some said it was when the factories started to lit up their coal burners and blackened the skies. The latter, to Tim, sounded more logical and plausible, really; if it had not been the same day as the former.

But then again, the illogicals have always appealed on Tim. Ever since his mother passed her abilities to him, he had only started to understand that those deemed as 'illogical' were merely unexplained facts. Like how he could make the coffeepot levitate and pour him a nice cup of coffee just by willing it so. By connecting to it on the molecular level and  _negotiate_  with every other molecules in the air to move the coffeepot just right.

Yes, he'd spent quite a lot of pots, practicing. He was sure that if his father was here, he would not have approved. Fortunately, dad was all the way in Keystone City, happy with his new wife,  _her_  daughter, and a second chance of a family that he'd never gotten with Tim's mother. And Tim.

No, he was not bitter. Father being all the way out there meant that  _Tim_ was free to tinker and experiment with his newfound world. The world where everything looked  _alive_ , even under the perpetually gloomy skies of Gotham. The world beyond his father's business deals and stuffy boardrooms that - while accommodating to the family's livelihood, had brought too much attention to Tim as a person. People wanted to see if he would be a 'great businessman and entrepreneur' like his dad, who had 'hit rock bottom with his wife's death, and rebounded stronger than ever!'

Eh. Maybe not. While Tim was not in any way uninformed of the ways of a business, he would much rather concentrate on things that are more important. Like his life as a homo-magi, and how he could use that, maybe, for good things.

One day, according to mother's notes, he, too, will get a familiar. It could take one out of hundreds of forms, his researches has showed him. And usually manifested around the time he turned sixteen - which should be in a few weeks. Knowing his general shit-luck, he figured that it would not be anything spectacular like a dragon, a white wolf, or a raven, or a bat. Not even a cat. It would probably end up as a lizard or a slug.

Either way, they would be important, Tim knew. He should take care of it until... well, forever, really. Until it's his time to pass on, or get killed.

Yeah, Tim was not keen on the latter, really - which was one of the main reasons he'd stick his skills to things that others would not seen as valuable, or could be turned to cynical things. He stuck with healing and material manipulation, not to the more bold or potentially-dangerous things like hexing or cursing. The only hexes he has around him were the protection ones. The only amulets he would create would be healing ones, not protection - because even protective stuff, right here in Gotham, could be used for unscrupulous deeds.

"Seriously, of all the things-- you could at least do like, a love potion or something, dude." Conner Kent, his bestest best friend of all time, remarked. "Or like, charming amulet or something. Like so you can attract girls or boys or whatever."

"No," Tim huffed. "Charming amulets could be used like, you can just walk up to a bank teller and rob it just by asking nicely. Thanks, I don't want that on my conscience."

"You'll make a lot of money," Conner reminded. Tim shot him a dirty looks. "Hey, I know you're technically rich, but everyone could use some cash!"

"Present company included?" Tim sneered. Conner was the adopted son of the Kent family, who preside the Metropolis area. Metropolis, true to its name, is a metropolitan city in which mages and almost all kinds of creatures would live freely and openly without fears of persecution - providing they stayed on the least delinquent path of life, that is. When one strayed, Clark Kent, Conner's adoptive father and a grand Mage with powerful extraterrestrial heritage, would not hesitate to sweep down from his perch and deliver hexes and curses like nobody's business.

Truth be told, Tim much preferred being under Bruce Wayne's control in Gotham, really. Less scary extraterrestrial magickry, more pragmatic law-matters. Sure, that would also mean that there are more delinquents. But at least they were the type of delinquency that are expected.

Still, Conner was often blasé with the doings of his father, and that sometimes infuriated Tim.

"Naah, I'll just rely on my natural charms," Conner grinned. "I gotta jet, anyway. See you next meeting?"

"Sure, if I can make it, I'll let you know." Tim replied. With a whoosh of air, Conner departed, relying on Tim's charms to fly away unseen.

The next meeting would take place by the weekend in San Francisco, where Tim, Conner, and a number of other young mages from around the US would meet and discuss things. General,  _teenagers'_   things, that is. They have had enough adults around them to 'discuss' the use of their powers and whatnot, and they felt like they  _really_  couldn't be arsed to have anymore 'adulting' stuff being shoved down their throats.

Maybe he would have gotten his familiar by then. It would be exciting, since Cassie Sandsmark and Rachel Roth, two of Tim's six buddies, have already gotten theirs. Cassie's was an eagle, and Rachel's was a massive black cat.

Just a few more weeks, and Tim would find out what his familiar would be.

He went to sleep that night feeling a little giddy with excitement. Both of the prospect of meeting his friends again, those with like-minded mentality and gifts; and with the possibility of getting a familiar, which means he could learn more of his gifts than any notes or researches could ever provide him. He could still remember wishing for a familiar that is as good as can be for his needs, whatever the shape might be.

* * *

Tim woke up to a puff of odorless smoke, that in spite of being odorless, still stung his eyes.

"What the..." he automatically reached for the pitcher of water on his bedside table and tossed its contents to what he guessed was the source of the smoke. He wondered why his smoke detectors didn't warn him, until a voice sputtered out from the smoke.

"Hey! Cut it out! Damn water is cold!"

"What." Tim demanded as he opened the window. As the smoke cleared, he could see a form - a  _person_! - hulking behind the smoke. He instinctively reached for the baseball bat he'd kept next to the bed. "Who are you and what are you doing here!" he growled.

"Ugh, chill out, Tim! It's not my fault I come up with smokes..." the voice growled back.

With a little more consciousness, Tim suddenly felt the familiar tingle on his spine. "Oh my goddess, you're my familiar??" Belatedly he wondered if the universe was conspiring against him to throw awful puns into his consciousness. Or by throwing this smokey creature into his bedroom so early in the morning. Or both.

"Pffh... yea, hi." The smoke finally cleared and Tim found himself face-to-face to a whole  _person_ , with  _wings_. Who was extending his hand for a handshake.

Tim glared, long enough to make the winged-person self-conscious. "Uh... let me repeat myself. Hi, I'm Jason. I've been assigned as your familiar. Don't worry about the wings, they're just my present mode of transportation which will be gone in..." he flicked something from his shoulder, "...about now... There!"

The wings disappeared, as well as the smoke. And Tim finally got to see the entirety of his familiar.

Then he eloquently remarked, "Wrow."

* * *

Cassandra Sandsmark, part-Amazonian, part goddess, wholly elegant and beautiful with her long blonde hair, blue eyes, porcelain skin that covered lithe muscles that belied the Amazonian wisdom, intellects, and strength; took one look at Tim's brand new familiar, and with one hand on her chest, turned to Tim, looked into his eyes, and intoned sagely, "Wrow."

Rachel Roth, the epitome of a typical Gothic child - black hair, pale skin, all-dark colored attires - that did little to hide the fact that she was a daughter of a demon, nor ever hid the fact that she was a witch; still glaring viciously at Jason as she stated, "I concur."

"I... am still ambiguous of whether I'm blessed or cursed at having a shape-shifter as a familiar." Tim admitted.

"Tim, buddy, at the risk of sounding fanfiction-y and cheesy; you've got a familiar who is six-feet-tall, all muscles and a tan that could make all the people out there from here to Miami  _jealous_  with eyes that can only be described as  _turquoise_ , a mop of black hair and white streak that will  _absolutely_  be the trend for the next few centuries, with chiseled features that were likely hand-crafted by Apollo himself. Whatever ambiguity you have right now?-- crush it into a ball and throw it to the bay." Cassie told him in all seriousness.

"You said that Apollo is a jealous SOB. He's not gonna create something more beautiful than he is." Tim replied absently.

"Ah-hah! You admitted he's nice to the eyes! Still..." Cassie crowed. At the other end of the common room, Jason was trying to catch Bart Allen, Tim's other bestie whose powers came from the Speed Force and was currently literally running circles around Jason. Nobody has ever caught Bart, before,  _ever_. But Jason crouched like a tiger for a few blinks, leaped-- right into Bart as they both tumbled and rolled toward the balcony. They might have ended up in the bay down below if Conner hadn't extended his strong arms and caught both by Jason's leg.

"He is strong, Tim," Rachel warned. "I... while his appearance is... not objectionable, his aura is solid. He is strong and angry, and the anger is channeled into his strength. He is an old soul who has been trained in a number of old mystics. I-- have never seen an aura so clear and blindingly bold other than in..." she cringed. "...well, my father. Only with different inclination. And it does not matter - all strong ones have bold auras." she rapidly added.

"Okay, but he's not evil." Tim clarified.

"Timmy, familiars are only as evil as their people. Rachel's dad is a real  _demon_ , not a familiar." Cassie explained patiently. And Tim would have swallowed her explanations at face value, unfortunately. Rachel and Cassie were the only ones among them who actually have the hierarchical knowledge from their mothers - like knowledge are supposed to be passed on.

Neither he, Conner, or Bart actually had the time or luxury to questions their respective mothers. Conner was an effigy - supposedly the familiar of Clark Kent - drawn into life in human form by Lex Luthor, Clark's greatest foe. Bart claimed he had come from the future and was pulled to the present by the sudden deceleration of the Speed Force as the previous holder, Barry Allen, was killed. Although Bart was being cared for by a couple, only one part of the couple - Max the dad - was a magi. Technically, neither Tim, Conner, or Bart, has mothers.

"Oookay..." Tim sighed. "So I'm kinda stuck with an awfully gorgeous dude as my familiar.  _What_ , praytell, am I going to tell the neighbors..." he grumbled.

"Aren't your neighbors seeing you as a little college student?" Conner asked, sauntering near and placed his arm protectively around Cassie's waist. "Tell them he's your boyfriend or something."

Tim death-glared him. "Really, Conner?"

Conner shrugged. "You want the easy way out, without having to tell them that your ancestors have awful sense of humor and send you a  _man_ -shapeshifter to be your familiar, and then explain what a familiar is and why it's got to be your ancestors' fault..." he pointed out.

"Ugh. You're right." Tim winced. "Why can't my familiar be a goldfish or something...?"

"Because you'd put the goldfish in a small bowl and kill it with loneliness." Conner replied pragmatically. Tim glared again, but Conner was not wrong, Tim didn't have a stellar record with pets. "Plus, at least it's not like, a slug or anything like that."

"Eh. Yeah. Well, anyway. Gotta work with it--  _him_ , anyway. It's not like I can exchange familiars, can I?"

"I'm not a puppy, or a cat." Jason exclaimed, glaring at Tim. "News flash number one, tiny little magi, I can hear anything and everything you say  _about me_  even if I'm not in the building and/or distracted by many things. So, might be nice to just ask me things, huh?"

"Can you shut off that listening thingy while I'm having a heart to heart with my buddies?" Tim deadpanned. "Seriously, you're like, a human being. A  _cat_  might not make me unsettled if I were sharing...  _things_  with my friends. But you're not a cat."

Jason chortled. "Yes I can, my magi." he replied, bowing in an exaggerated manner. "But your wish shall have time limits, unfortunately. The universe does not look kindly to familiars who are ignorant of their magi's whereabouts."

And thus, the tale of how Timothy Drake, young homo-magi, ended up with a humanoid familiar named Jason. Once the group decided to walk around town, Tim realized how beneficial it was that his familiar was not in animal form - all kinds of attention that were normally directed to him due to his 'celebrity' status as Jack Drake's son were soon diverted by Jason's good looks and charming demeanor. His automatic stance of being a few steps ahead of Tim did not hurt, either. Nor since said stance of his whole six-foot and doritos frame - as well as Conner's similar physique - presented a somewhat solid wall when the two walked in front of them.

"I feel like a movie star, walking with my entourage." Cassie remarked, after seeing a group of people veered out of their path upon sight of Conner and Jason walking toward them.

"I feel... I still don't know what to feel. But it's not bad." Tim said, "at least  _I_  won't have to be the blocker for those gropers..." he slightly nodded toward the group who'd just veered out of the way. Even in a city as proverbially liberal and friendly as San Francisco, there would still be men who looked at Cassie or Rachel and thought of them as objects. Conner's presence tend to deter them a little. But when Conner wasn't around, Tim and Bart ended up as substitute 'guards'.

Mind you, the term 'guards' was not referring to how Tim and Bart 'guard' Cassie and Rachel, but rather to prevent the ladies from unleashing hell on the harassers and/or make scenes that would make Hell rise up and out and ask 'who am I taking down with me now?'

No, Tim did not need scenes. Not especially ones that would associate with his name in which his dad would see through tabloids. He did, however, wonder what his dad would say if/when somebody in the tabloids finally get words that Jack Drake's heir is rooming with an insanely gorgeous man.

Tim sighed and followed the girls into a coffee shop. That would be another matter to solve or resolve for another time. Right now, Tim just wanted to relax and enjoy being with his friends.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... am actually apprehensive at posting this. It's *almost* done - at least for the first part. But the muse still won't give me the rest of the plot and/or ending for this one; so I'm ending it with a little more disjointed structure than I'd like it to be (at least for me). 
> 
> In short, there is an actual ending for this part of the story - otherwise I won't post it. But there are more to this AU than what's done, and *those* are still what eluding me. Hopefully I'll be able to bribe the muse to get on with it soon. Ish.

The modern-day magi's greatest issue, clearly, was the bedding.

"You are not a puppy." Tim had said on the first day, feeling certain that the medieval wizards and witches would have had no problem in bedding something along the line of a dragon or something. But then again, there were no social media back then that would show a photograph of a dragon's leg protruding out of a witch's hut. Still, Jason was not a dragon-shaped familiar. 

"Woof?" Jason had replied glibly.

"You don't fit in my bed. Not with me in it." he'd pointed out. "not unless I sleep on you, literally. I mean, you barely fit in it  _without_  me in it..."

"Expand the bed." Jason had suggested. "Or, well, I don't mind you on me, really. Unless you drool excessively, that is. In that case I might want to boot you to the bathtub."

"I don't have a bathtub." Tim had replied plaintively. "--and it's  _my_  place! What even-- Can't you like, change into a small creature, like maybe a bird, and... gosh, I dunno, make a nest or something?"

"I don't sleep in altered form, Timothy," Jason had explained patiently. "If I go to sleep in the closet in a shoebox in the form of a puppy, you might end up getting your closet door broken when I reshaped in my sleep."

The solution, therefore, was that by the weekend - after deciding that his couch was a lousy place to sleep on for more than a few hours at a time and that Jason fitted  _worse_  in it than on the actual bed - Tim had arranged to get a big bed. Not a set of twin bed, no, because Jason pointed out that in spite of the difference of sizes between a twin and a king, the former would eat up much,  _much_  more space than the latter.

Tim figured out too late that it was just an excuse and that  _Jason_  was glibly making excuses.

There should be enough space, alright, in his four-storeyed brownstone. He would just need to open the attic floor above his current living space, and convert it into a bedroom. A few spells, with Jason's physical strength helping, had made a short work of the cleanup job. It left Tim reeling a little, when he felt the immense energy Jason would share with him in his own muscles. While not exactly physically frail, Tim would say that he was not athletic. But Jason... Jason was the stereotypical embodiment of a jock. Tall, muscular, absolutely physically strong upper body, and - as Cassie put it - a tan that would make anyone on the Western hemisphere jealous.

"Do you always appear attractive?" Tim finally asked, no longer able to contain his curiosity.

Jason raised an eyebrow at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"What do you mean 'what's that supposed to mean'? Your--" Tim waved abstractly to the general direction of Jason, while the latter's eyes followed Tim's waves just as abstractly. "You're  _gorgeous_! You heard what Cassie and Rachel said, yesterday!"

Jason shrugged. "Oh, right. The female persuasions tend to say that. The male persuasions - unless they're friendlies, tend to scorn me for... this. I don't know what you mean by 'gorgeous', really. This is just the way I am shaped." he replied. "Maybe it's my mixed blood, but I've always looked like this since I grew up."

"Were you ever a child?" Tim's question was more of a wondering that got blurted out, really, because he wanted to know what Jason would have looked like as a small child.

"I was," Jason smiled ruefully. "I am a shapeshifter - a changeling child, if you will. An unwanted child of a fae who was tainted with human's vices. I'd shifted around until I found a home in the Acres of All that taught me things - who I am, what I could become, how to become it. They then asked me if I'm willing to return to be a familiar of a magi, I said I would. And here I am!" he added cheerily with a triumphant fling of his arms.

Tim blinked. He suddenly realized that the world outside his home was actually a little brighter. The sun outside was visible, after months of gloom that has led even its most staunch natives to believe that Gotham was having an identity crisis and was pretending to be London.

"The sun," he remarked.

"What about it?" Jason asked.

"You... you were one of the faes that left..." Tim blurted.

"Uh, no...? Technically, we've never left. Just... kind of driven off the surface?" Jason said. "Those who assigned me were not full-fledged faes. There has never been a full-fledged faes in the US for centuries now. Not since the old-world people got here."

"Can you tell if one exists?"

"Sure, there are still plenty of tribes in the old world - or in areas where the purebloods can still hide. They're old, though. Not many could remain pureblooded unless they cross-bred with faes from different continents." Jason explained.

"The humans' studies on genetics and cross-contaminations happen to other species, too, huh?"

Jason huffed a laugh. "Yes, something like that. I'm sure there are genetically distorted faes, too, among them. But here, nope. We're all mixed with humans." he said. "Like you."

"Me??" Tim gasped. "I'm not... well, my dad is not a fae, that's for sure."

"No, eugh. Goddess, no. He's not. But your mom is not a magi.  _He_  is." Jason elaborated. " _She_  was a kind of mostly pureblooded fae.  _He_  was a dud magi, probably because he'd been too focused on human things like making money and stuff... He'd never heeded the calls."

"The archaeological digs?" Tim tested. Before Tim's mother died, his father, Jack Drake, was an amateur archaeologist. It sounded logical that Jack would have been drawn to the ancient artifacts due to his magi blood.

"Heh. The digs. They've tried and tried to call on him until  _you_  answered the call. Your mother, too, finally gave up on him and tried to shape you, instead. But..." Jason's voice trailed off as Tim's face clouded off. "...sorry..."

Tim inhaled sharply. "Don't be," he shrugged. "While I'd have loved to have her around to explain things to me, you're not a bad alternative."

"Right, tell me that when people start asking questions..." Jason smirked. "Speaking of which, I think one of your neighbors is coming with questions. Should I make myself scarce?"

Tim groaned exasperatedly. His nearest neighbors, really, were a bunch of college kids who rented the brownstone next door. Two girls, and one younger boy who was a brother of one of the girls. None of them were magi or any other creatures, but that did not stop them from being curious and/or tried their hands in the arts of magi. There were a number of times when Tim had to return home to find his security hexes scorched - signs of evil trying to break through his defenses after they were called upon, and promptly zoomed in on the only source of magi in the area: his home.

"I hope they're not going to do anymore séance..." Tim grumbled under his breath.

"Oooh... I think they just wanted to see me." Jason smirked. "So, I be charming boyfriend or do I be the nice big bro?"

"Erg... the okay new friend? Not from college 'cause they went to the same college I'm in..." Tim cringed.

"New transfer, then, because I  _shall_  be in your college, too, by the next time." Jason reminded.

"Oh, right. No disappearing, huh? Anyway, no. You can be my tutor because they're not in the same classes I took. Okay? You've just gotten evicted, so I'm offering a place for you."

"Got it."

Backstory in place, Tim went downstairs to meet the two neighbors, Stephanie Brown and Harper Row, who waited patiently by the door after they rang the bell.

"Hello!" The blonde one, Stephanie, chirped the instant the door flung open. "Sorry to bother you at this time of the day, I wasn't sure if you're awake yet or not, but Harper said it's a good time as any." she said, shoving a napkin-covered something in a bowl to Tim's arms.

"Steph baked a pie, and thought that your new friend might like to have a shot at it." Harper, the normally-blonde, but now-purple/blue/pink-haired, explained with what should be categorized as toothache-inducing grin: overly sweet and not good for one's health. She completed the grin by blatantly trying to look over Tim's head to look inside. While a little futile, since Tim was still half an inch taller than she, it made her intention quite clear.

Tim hesitated, but then remembered the pie they had brought him once upon a time ago - after he'd doused off the demonic flame that had nearly engulfed their home due to a wrongly-pronounced incantation. It was a very good pie. If anything, Stephanie knew how to bake things well-- as long as said 'things' did not include incantations or things that should've been used as hexes instead of eating.

"Come on in," he invited, after sensing no warning from Jason. "I'm sure Jason would love this."

"I'm sure anyone with working taste buds will," Stephanie said, marching confidently inward. "Jason, you said? --Hello! I'm Stephanie!" she promptly introduced herself to Jason, who was perched on Tim's workdesk with a book. And glasses. Harper brushing past his shoulder was what rebooted Tim's brain after he caught a glimpse of Jason in glasses.

"Hi, Stephanie," Jason replied, all suave and Tim was thinking along the line of  _holy what even did I get myself into bed with_  as Jason got up from the desk, showing his clear height advantage over the two girls, and accepted their handshakes.

"I knew Tim would get somebody gorgeous for himself." Harper crowed sweetly, a few minutes later, after Tim managed to extricate himself and all that remained of his sanity to retrieve plates from the kitchen.

Jason smirked. "I'm not sure how you're certain, except for the deliciousness of this pie. I can't even remember the last time I had something this homemade and delicious." he said. Stephanie preened.

"You're welcome. I'd offer more, but I think Harper's bro must've finished the one back home. Anyway--!" she leaned slightly toward Jason. "So what is it that you do? I mean, someone so buff like you... I'm thinking football scholarship?"

Tim nearly choked, barely missing inhaling a piece of pie when Jason seemed to be  _blushing_  at the question.

"Actually, I'm in History major. I've just got transferred here and my... accommodation didn't happen. Tim told me that he has space in his home." he shrugged nonchalantly.

This time, it was Stephanie's turn to blush. "Oh, wow. I'm sorry for stereotyping!"

"Don't be," Jason brushed her off. "Happens to me all the time. Kind of like the 'dumb blondes' stereotype, you know?" his eyes were on Harper when he said the 'dumb blonde' part, and Tim realized that there was no way Jason didn't know that Harper, too, was a blonde.

"Oh, yeah. Got that all the time. People freaked out when I told them I'm..."

"...majoring in engineering. I dunno, what is it? Electrical? Computer engineering?" Jason cut her off, correctly guessed Harper's major.

"Electrical with minor in computer... how did you know?"

Jason shrugged nonchalantly. "I've seen you before on campus. There aren't many girls in the engineering that doubles - especially the ones who take electrical as major." he said. Lies, obviously - if only the first part. But Harper would not have known it. "You, on the other hand, could be anything from business, marketing, to psychology. Which is it?" he asked Stephanie.

"Med-- well, nursing school as of now. But I'd love to do psychology when I get enough fund or a scholarship." Stephanie replied, flushing a little. "how did you know?"

"Spent too much time in college libraries?" Jason lied glibly.

The rest of the afternoon was spent with 90% lies, and 10% truth, and after a while, even Tim believed that Jason has known him for a good while - long enough to be trusted and so on and so forth. That he was 18, to Tim's 16. That he was a genius with historical stuff, not so much with technical - to which Harper gracefully offered for a tutoring session or two or two dozen, on how to use an iPhone. He can cook, to which Stephanie offered a number of recipes that Jason noted down with eagerness that - on other people, would have embarrassed Tim to no end.

Okay, fine. So Tim liked to eat, and has no proclivity whatsoever in the kitchen. If it takes more than three minutes to be done - or not giving out decidedly pungent odor when cooked or would explode and call up Satan - it would burn under Tim's watch.

Jason has also waited by the opened door for the girls to reach  _their_  door, by the time they left; telling a begrudged Harper that it was common sense - not that he didn't expect them to be able to fend for themselves.

"So you just  _have_  to present yourself as a 'perfect' dude." Tim groaned.

"That's what they expected, really, you can read it in their body language. No magick necessary." Jason said. "Plus, Harper is a sensitive. She would have sensed it if I was being insincere."

"But she couldn't tell your lies."

"Heh. That's part of my glamor, really." Jason was suddenly quiet for a moment, until Tim turned around to look at him, wondering why he was quiet. "Stephanie is... adamant in learning magick." he said contemplatively. "It is dangerous for her, really. But she's... well, a  _tsunami_ would be a good simile for her. She wants what she wants and will get it, no matter how many people would get run over. She has learned quite a lot from some other magis, and although her intention is pure, her methods could end up hurting a lot of people. Please be careful with yourself and don't give in to her, no matter how innocent her request might seem..."

Tim froze. "I've never told them I'm... I've never told anyone unless they're like me." he said.

"She's convinced that you are a magi, though. Something you did must have given it away. But she could not find any evidence, so you'll just have to be careful. Keep glamours up at all time. And be careful."

"You've said that,"

"It bears repeating. She is a nice person. But she could be used as a vessel by others to get to you. And you, buddy, you need to get in touch with those whose alignment is the same as yours, preferably ones with more experience in life. Because in the coming moons, there will be a lot of things happening that you simply can't face alone."


	3. Chapter 3

"...I have so many questions I don't even know where to start. I mean, does it make sense for you? It doesn't make sense to me. Mornin', sleepyhead."

And no, that squawk was not a full-on shriek that came out of Tim's throat when Conner zoomed in through his opened window and asked right out.  _Talked_  right out. Because one of Conner's abilities is the ability to move at the speed of thought. Or sound. And in this case, Tim thought that it might be the latter because Conner would and could - and  _tend to_  - move before he fully digested a thought through.

Tim's trepidation was soothed by the way Conner was glaring at the bed, Jason in it, and Tim's halfway walk toward the bathroom. If Tim had actually shrieked, Jason might have already leaped from it and start to disembowel Conner or something. There was no way Conner would still be able to glare.

"Can this wait until after I pee?" Tim had to ask. Otherwise Conner would just talk away while Tim would be in the bathroom and couldn't hear half the words he was saying. And then he would sulk because he thought Tim didn't care enough to answer or listen. There were times when Tim zoned out of Conner's laments, alright. But he's got the feeling that this shouldn't be one of it. 

"Yeah, okay," Conner replied absently, to Tim's relief as he continued his walk to the bathroom. He could hear Jason grumbling, 'you need better protection sigils and hexes, Tim,' as his familiar started to wake up.

Evidently, Jason has listed Conner as 'safe people'. Thankfully. Although he has only heard of it, the image of his familiar getting protective and his best friend getting mauled was not the kind of mental image Tim ever wanted to have.

After Tim did his business in the bathroom, he opened the door and did  _not_  shriek again. Seriously. But finding Conner standing right in front of it could be somewhat intimidating. Conner may only be a shade taller than Tim, but he was built like a small brick house and liked to  _float_  to appear taller.

"Conner! Seriously!" he barked and shoved Conner out of the way.

"First thing first, your familiar is in bed with you. Should I be concerned?" Conner took  _one_  step to the side, in spite of Tim shoving him with all his might.

"First thing first," Jason grumbled. "it's the butt-crack of dawn. Why are you even awake?"

"I live on a farm. We wake up at five. And Kansas is an hour earlier than here. So. Familiar? Bed?" Conner replied, and turned to follow Tim, still annoyingly floating as if intimidation could make Tim answer quicker.

"It's seven o'clock, Conner...  _I'm_  not even awake yet..." Tim grumbled. "And yes, we took a king-size instead of twin because the familiar needs to be close to me. It's not rocket science..."

"Yes, Effigy, I need to be close to my magi." Jason confirmed. "It's in the books. I think. Didn't you used to be a familiar?"

"I was, or at least I think I was. Supposedly I was, so Cassie's mom said. But I have no memories of life as a familiar when I was drawn out to the real world." Conner explained.

Jason blinked owlishly. Tim did, too - Conner never revealed  _this_  side of his life before. But then again, no one ever asked him. The gang just sort of accepted Conner into their midst as a human's creation that happened to be able to do magick.

Tim turned on his heels. "I need to coffee." he stated, making his way to the kitchenette.

"Make that two." Jason quipped.

"Do familiars eat and drink?" Conner asked cheerfully. "You guys want pancakes or something? I can drop over to IHOP and come back like, real quick. Wait-- does this city have an IHOP? Or should I go to New York or Metropolis?"

Remembering that there is  _no_  IHOP in Gotham, "New York," Tim said automatically, at the same time Jason remarked, 'Metropolis is fine, better if you can go to San Francisco and come back tomorrow.' Tim shook his head and grinned. Jason was  _not_  subtle when he wanted something out of his sight.

"I'll be back soon," Conner announced and zoomed out of the window.

"How long that'll buy us? Ten minutes?" Jason demanded.

"At least... that'll be the cooking time--  _Jason_! What are you doing??" Tim screeched when Jason started conjuring hexes right over the window. "No, no, no, no! Don't! Conner is my friend!"

Jason visibly sulked. "Yeaaah, but really? Seven a.m.?" he whined.

"At least he'll bring pancakes." Tim pointed out.

"I can get us to Metropolis for pancakes, too." Jason argued.

"Are you like,  _jealous_?" Tim jeered, pouring his coffee into a mug using magick because he couldn't trust his own eye-hand coordination without coffee in his system.

"I'm  _annoyed_ , Timothy. Why would I be jealous at an effigy?" Jason snapped.

"You're a familiar, you're not supposed to sleep, eat, drink, or do human things." Tim remarked. "Conner is a cancelled familiar, an effigy that was pulled out of Superman and has the same strength and abilities. He's technically a human being."

Tim turned after a gulp of coffee and about five seconds later when there was still silence from Jason's direction. "Oh. My. Goddess.  _Really_ , Jason?? You're  _jealous_?" he exclaimed.

"No..." Jason sighed. "Not of... him. Conner. I just... I've never been human. He's a cancelled familiar. I'm a cancelled human. Just... I wondered what it's like..." he shrugged.

"Have your coffee." Tim offered, not knowing what else to say. "I'd like to know how you came to be, really. But... I-- kinda like Conner, I guess. I don't know where to start."

Jason yawned, then stretched like a cat across the bed. "Maybe I'll get the feel of being human through you, y'know, YOLO and whatnot." he grinned, almost ferally. Even in the soft light coming from outside, Tim could see the scruff on his face and wondered why is it his familiar looked more  _manly_  than he does. He made a mental note to buy some  _man_  stuff, like a shaving kit. While the five o'clock shadow on Jason's chin looked fairly interesting, Tim has no plan to live with a semblance of a grown-up caveman hipster. He was sure that would bring more curious questions.

As it were, just as Jason finished doing whatever he was doing - or pretended to be doing - in the bathroom, Conner returned bearing pancakes. And questions.

"You know I don't really get to keep the book of knowledge or whatever it is a familiar get, right?" Conner said. "Also, have you coffee yourself up? Because you're no fun without it."

"I have," Tim showed him the mug. "I'm almost conscious enough to bear with you. Okay, you don't keep the knowledge of a familiar, I get that. But Kon, how  _did_  you get to be human, anyway?"

"That, buddy, is exactly what I wanted to know. I mean you're smart. Luthor is smart, but you're smart, too. Can't you figure it out?" Conner wanted to know.

"Conner, I'm sixteen. Actually, not even. I'm  _turning_  sixteen. I'm smart for my age, sure. But Lex Luthor is like, old. He's forty or something."

"He's Clark's age, actually. A few months older, so Clark think. So he's approximately 36-ish. But I get that the bald head could be misleading."

Tim glared at him.

"Oh no, that's a withering glare. I do  _not_  deserve a withering glare. Nope, you take that back right now!" Conner spluttered indignantly.

"At least we know somebody fed a dictionary to the effigy..." Jason muttered as he walked past Tim.

"Hey!" Conner protested. "I happen to come with the brain knowledge of a  _journalist_ , thank you very much! I have good sized vocabulary count in my brain."

Jason glared blankly at him until Tim poked his side. "Be nice," Tim scowled. "he brought enough pancakes to feed an army. --wait, Bart isn't coming, is he?"

"Doubt he's even awake this time of the day." Conner quipped. "Besides, Ma Kent always said that breakfast is the most important meal of the day. I've had mine, actually. These are for you two. And no need to thank me, rich boy, I still have your card."

Tim rolled his eyes. Conner was supposed to hold his card - a Drake Industries credit card - for their San Francisco-based gang's needs. As it were, no one even blinked when the rich Drake kid bought an island and proceeded to have friends over. No one - not even Tim's dad - asked if there is an adult there to supervise them. But then again, the kids were not the crazy-party kind, anyway. They were merely there to hang out and consult each other of their respective powers and history and school.

Okay, so they mostly would try to con Tim to do their homework for them. But that's beside the point. The island Tim had bought made it possible for them to work out their powers without endangering anyone - technically. Also so that no one adult should be able to see them and judge them, because if anything, Tim understood the need to be able to do it on his own without adults hovering and/or criticizing them all the time.

Sure, the gang's equivalent of Tim's broken pots and pans might be a little... bigger, and messier, and sometimes require Amazonian or Conner's super strength and a few conjured industrial cleaners to clean up, and even an inter-dimensional portal to discard. But it has been working quite well. Even Bart with his self-proclaimed two-milliseconds-attention-span has actually managed to get some sort of okay grades in his school and he was able to sit still for more than five minutes in classes.

Might be the meditation Tim and Rachel taught him, or the potions Cassie brought from her own books of herbs and healing; but hey, whatever worked. Bart is not stupid, it was just the need to be  _still_  that fought with his speed-force-based energy's instinct to move.

The bright side is that Bart was still an adolescent, and like most adolescent, there was no way he would voluntarily wake up before the sun is high. Unlike Conner, who was used to small amount of sleep living in the Kent family farm.

"And now that we're all coffee-d and filled with pancake, can someone answer my questions, please?" Conner practically pleaded just as the last slice of the first pancake passed Tim's mouth.

He chewed slowly, swallowed, chased it down with coffee, and then nodded. "Okay, start at the first question." he said, bracing himself.

"Right. And make that concise, please. All you did since you flew in here were asking questions." Jason deadpanned.

"Alright," Conner inhaled, and Tim  _definitely_  tried to brace himself for all and any embarrassing question Conner might ask. "how does one go be a familiar? I mean, I was an effigy, supposedly. A statue created out of Clark's physical aspect, so I was told. How did  _you_  become a familiar?"

Jason's eyes looked a little sad for a moment, and Tim remembered what he said about being an unwanted child.

But Jason inhaled, and told Tim, "you might want to record this, Timmy, 'cause I've got the feeling I'll be repeating the answers a lot of times."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeap... I'mma try to update whenever I finish one adulting deadline. Because I adult to be able to fanfic. Also once-a-week update for 25-ish chapters feels like forever. Since I edit before I post, I found it a little confusing if I have to edit one AU and then go back to write another, and then edit this one again. 
> 
> Sooo... hopefully I can update twice a week, at least.

"I don't know about going to Bruce Wayne, Tim... I mean, Clark said he's... unhinged." Conner told him. "A non-magi who obtained magi powers and use it to do good behind a mask? Really? If I don't know consequences of my action and whatnot, I'd probably use my powers to like, rule the world or something."

"And do what with the world under your orders? Make them allow you eat french fries and milkshakes at every meal?" Tim retorted.

"Oh no, that's Bart. But I  _could_ , you know." Conner replied nonchalantly. "But fries and shakes should be every day meal, anyway, along with bacon. I don't see why not. And for the love of all things mighty, while we're on the subject: in bacon we trust. I don't understand the concept of vegan bacon. If it's called bacon, it should have been made of animal parts. If there's no animal in it, it's veggie chips."

"City people don't burn as much calories on daily basis as you do, farmboy." Jason quipped. "Or like a speedster. But anyway, matter at hand! We - or more specifically,  _I_  - don't see Wayne as dangerous, and as you've pointed out yourself, he's been trying to resolve the issues between the faes and other kinds for quite a good long time now."

"He still gets his magi powers through an exchange with the devil or something, and I don't like it." Conner pointed out.

"Actually, he didn't make exchanges. He trained for his magi. You know that there are plenty of loose magical powers everywhere, right?" Jason tested.

"No?" Tim and Conner replied in unison, in the same tone. "How does that work?" Tim wanted to know.

"People like your dad, Tim, when they denied their heritage, their... essence-- or their  _mana_ , if you'd rather; would depart their bodies and just... leave. Other people can catch it through years - if not decades - of extensive training and make it their own." Jason explained. "On people like Wayne, the manifestation of the magick won't be as strong as those who was born with it. But it's there."

"Your dad was a witch? I thought it was your mom..." Conner commented.

"No, she wasn't. She was... a fae, apparently." Tim told him hesitantly. Conner - like all of his other friends, never asked of where their parents came from. Tim knew of his friends' heritage, largely because he  _looked_ them up. But they had never asked for his, and he has never told. Heck, he had only found out that his dad was a magi and mom was a fae when Jason told him. He was not sure of how Conner would react.

"Oh cool," was Conner's reaction. Tension promptly left Tim's body as he released the breath he didn't even realize he was holding. Jason's hand pressed on his back helped, as Jason seemed to notice Tim's tenseness even before Tim did. "So anyway, when a homo-magi denied their heritage - what does that even mean? I mean how could you just go up and say, 'dude, what even is magick and I don't want it kthanksbye'? Isn't it like saying something along the line of 'hey, I'm not Asian' in spite of like, having actual Asian-origin parents, grandparents, great grandparents, and so on?"

"Yeeeah, not so much. The essence is not visible, right? Unlike your Asian or African or European heritage that can be seen through your hair, eyes, or skin color. It's more like..." Jason paused as he searched for a comparison. "I dunno... More like the wolf saying I'm not wild therefore I'm not a wolf, but a dog?"

"Oookay..." Conner glared at Jason contemplatively. "Weird, but I can actually digest that. Surprise. Okay, so someone like Tim's dad forsaken his essence, and said essence just do a free-flow around the world until someone like Bruce Wayne come around and snatched it?"

"That-- is the very short nutshell version of it. Like a single-nut's shell." Jason almost snickered.

"But it's not gonna be necessarily Tim's dad's essence?" Conner clarified.

"No, not necessarily." Jason confirmed. "That was just an example."

"So Bruce Wayne had actually trained and get his magick essence." Tim remarked. "Why him? I mean, there's got to be more people like him, right? People who has trained hard and earned magickal abilities."

"Yes and no. Yes, there are people like him who'd trained hard and get a magickal essence. But most of them would have sacrificed something - or someone - to get to where Bruce is. The best those others could do is maybe make a rabbit come out of a hat. Or lasers out of their fingers or eyes or whatever orifice they opted it to come out from. And I could only name a  _very_  small handful who would use it to protect others."

That logic Tim could understand. Nobody who lived in Gotham hasn't heard of Bruce Wayne, the metaphorical 'Prince' of Gotham. The only heir of Wayne family after five solid generations of money that built Gotham City. Bruce had lost his parents to murder that happened in a robbery gone bad when he was ten. And after a stint-slash-disappearing overseas, he reemerged in Gotham some years ago and stated right away that he was going to fix it. He has been pouring money and effort and support and all that is needed to rebuild Gotham from the slum it was once to the metropolitan city it is today.

The magi side of Tim, however, knew that the money and effort and support and planning were not the only things Bruce Wayne had given. Once upon a time, Tim had seen Bruce out at night, wearing a bat mask that covered half his face and cape that flowed around him menacingly. He was working in stopping magi-based crimes. The lore of the 'Bat-man' has been around since Tim was about three or four, and a few years ago, he had finally managed to see it on his own. 

There were many monsters - to put it mildly - that were stopped by Bruce's alter ego before they could hurt their prey. Vampirical magis who had tried to use blood or other humans' life or fear to boost their powers; demonic misfits who only wanted to destroy and hurt others for their own benefit; miscreant goblins and hoarders who did not care for the non-magis in lieu of possession of random artifacts or cursed objects, and abandoned mystical beasts that needed to feed after they were discarded by their previous owners.

Yes, Bruce Wayne has done a lot of good for Gotham. But still, he was a warlock - someone who hunts magical beings and creatures. Even if he had - so far - done it behind a mask and only toward magis who abused their powers, Tim was a magi. Likewise with his teammates. Cassie's magick might be more...  _tolerable_  for Wayne, known for his association with Cassie's mentor, Diana Prince. But Rachel? Rachel was a full-on demon with a demon as her dad.

Which made it a not-good idea to cross path with Bruce Wayne, a warlock.

The only thing Tim would have asked, if he would ever cross Bruce Wayne in person - preferably in private, is  _why_  would he hide his face. It's not like the authorities would do anything to stop him if they knew it was him, anyway. A magi could probably tell right away who he was, mask or no mask. He was fooling no one in Tim's side of the world.

"Yeeeah, regardless. Clark said he's pretty hard on his stance against magickal things. Claimed he'd only used his abilities to contain rogue magicks. Personally, I'm not comfortable that you'd bring Tim to him. He's... he could find out about our gang." Conner argued.

"Annnd... your gang isn't exactly a 'bad kids' gang', anyway. What's your problem?" Jason countered.

"He doesn't sound like someone who could be reasoned with." Conner deadpanned.

"He's a Gothamite born and bred." Jason countered.

"Eh, he's got a point." Tim shrugged. Gothamites were not people to be reasoned with. They just do things or don't do things. "'Sides, that's kind of exactly what I'm like." he added.

"You can still be reasoned with," Conner argued.

"I'm also sixteen. Wayne is-- what? In his 30s? He's got to have a lot more experience and  _reasons_  why he can't be reasoned with. All I would need to do is  _talk_  to him and tell him of Jason's warning. It stands to reason that he'd never heard of anything like this if he doesn't have a familiar."

Conner sighed exasperatedly. "Fine," he eventually said. "But please remember, once Wayne knows of us, we may not be safe. So please, please, please,  _please_  leave the lot of us out of this."

"That's a lot of 'please'," Jason commented.

"That's to emphasize just how much I mean it." Conner retorted.

"Okay! Oh my goddess, you don't have to be dramatic!"

"Besides, who said he hasn't known about you all, yet?" Jason grinned impishly, and Tim felt like tossing the coffee pot to his head when Jason turned to him and warned. "Don't. Even."

Tim rolled his eyes. "Tell me his personality is generic and isn't an aspect of mine." he told Conner.

"No, you're a lot more fun and less sass." Conner replied, and then frowned; "...or is it more sass and less fun? Or more fun _d_  - with a 'd'? Anyway, no he's not like you."

"That's a relief..." Tim dryly remarked. "...at least I know that you think highly of my funding abilities."

"Hey, I'm just a poor farm boy." Conner replied, smiling sweetly.

"...so you relinquished your dignity to let Tim be your sugar daddy. Yay." Jason quipped.

The coffeepot came flying toward Jason's head manually, courtesy of Conner, and Jason cackled while avoiding it.

"Guys, really..." Tim sighed, glaring forlornly at the spilled coffee. Nary a drop of it had hit Jason, nor the pot that he had caught neatly. But there was a large line of coffee puddle across the living room now. "You two derps better clean that up, or I'll throw something bigger and heavier and  _magickal_ -er next!"


	5. Chapter 5

And that was how Tim found himself in front of the Wayne Manor, waiting for the butler to open the gate and reconsidering his life choices.

"This feels wrong." He told Jason.

"How so and what's felt wrong?" Jason asked from the passenger seat of Tim's car. He could drive, he'd told Tim, but Bruce Wayne would know that Jason is a familiar and would wonder why he was driving. The probability of having a cop stopping them at random only to find that Jason has no identifications would not be nice, either. Although Tim didn't really know if Gotham has any traffic cops. Or Meter Maids. Or anyone who would care if a supernatural being is driving a car. As it were, no one ever stopped Tim's technically-fifteen-year old self from driving, which he had done since he'd _turned_ 15 and his dad was disabled. 

Either way, Tim has made a mental note to create an identification of some sort for Jason, because he knew it would be better to be prepared. 

"It felt... I feel like a pawn being pushed to advance a plot point." he admitted, pushing his other thoughts aside.

Jason snorted a laugh. "This is, unfortunately, real life. If you feel like being pushed, that's some cosmic speech thingy that even _I_ am not privy to." he said. "But yeah, you wished to fix Gotham so that it can return to be good - at least livable - for its people of all kinds. Maybe there's a sinister plot somewhere down the line, but my job here is to keep you safe. That's it."

"So you pushed your agenda by setting mine aside." Tim concluded.

"...But for real, Tim? Do you even _have_ an agenda? You're now able to tap into obnoxiously large amount of knowledge that have been passed through each generation's familiars. What are you going to do with that knowledge?" Jason countered. "Besides, with Wayne's presence, we'll have a tangible person to blame if anything is to happen to you." he added blithely.

Tim was quiet all the mile-long drive through the Wayne Manor's driveway to the front door. Jason's argument, annoyingly, made sense. He did not have a plan. He had a wish: make things better. How, he did not know. Where to start, he did not know. What step to take first, he did not know.

"Okay, but if you in any way, means, or form embarrass me, I'mma punt your rear to the next planet." He groused at Jason as they both stood in front of the door. Jason mouthed 'moi?' with one eyebrow cocked and eyes wide to profess his faux-innocence, just as the door swung open.

Bruce Wayne's butler, an old man by the name of Alfred Pennyworth, opened the door. His imperturbable cool demeanor flickered a little at the sight of Tim.

"Ah, young Master Drake. Pardon an old man for stating how you have grown since I saw you last..." he said.

"Hi..." Tim elegantly squawked. "You've seen me?" he asked back, not sure because, although he had seen Alfred Pennyworth's image through photos; he did not remember ever meeting him in person.

"Oh yes, you were but a wee child then. Just learning to talk, I believe. You were a little older than two, and your first word was 'wonderful'." Pennyworth replied. "I believe you are his familiar then, Sir? It is quite rare to see a human-shaped familiar. Do enter, gentlemen."

Tim's brain skidded to a halt, as well as his body, upon the word. Jason bumped to him slightly. "What?" Jason demanded.

"You-- he-- you know-- how--??" Tim spluttered.

"Oh, Mr Pennyworth is a daimon - a house protector. His ancestry is tightly linked with the Waynes all the way back to the Old Country. Hence his presence here now." Jason explained. "And the accent." he added, as if Tim had not noticed that Alfred Pennyworth has thick British accent. 

If asked, though, Tim would admit that he just automatically thought that all butlers came from the UK and/or got taught the British accent as a requirement in their butler school or something. 

"Hoo...kay..." Tim breathed. "I'm a bit... not comfortable, Mr Pennyworth. To be honest."

"I shall adjust the protective sigils, then. And please, Master Drake, call me Alfred." the butler remarked.

"Well you should call me Tim, then. 'Master Drake' sounded weird to me." Tim told him, pouting a little at the exchange of smiles between Alfred and Jason. "What?"

"You came from the old blood, young Master Timothy, yet you are not versed in the ways of the old blood. I understand." Alfred said, bowing a little. "I cannot, however, alter the ways of the ancients that I was taught in, regardless of this being the new country. Please, kindly have a seat while I summon Master Bruce." he ushered them to the sun room, a small-ish room - considering the size of the mansion, that is - on the side of the foyer.

"'Ways of the ancients'?" Tim asked Jason once he felt that Alfred was far enough away from the door.

"Unfortunately, daimons are specifically trained to serve with certain ways. If they strayed too far from the specifics, they'll lose their protective abilities. Like, you know how some nannies formed attachment with their charges and start calling them by name instead of 'master' something?" Jason asked.

"Yeah, I've had those... My mom would usually replace nannies who'd started to call me-- wait,  _that_  was the reason??" the realization hit Tim a little harder than it should.

"Well, yes. Once they think of themselves as a non-servitude member of the household, they lost their protective abilities. I told you Bruce Wayne wasn't a magi, but his mother was - the Kane family, I believe. Old blood all the way to the biblical namesake." Jason shrugged nonchalantly.

Tim winced. "Not... cool. I think. I mean, biblical namesake aside, how did a magi family end up with a warlock family?" he wanted to know.

"Love conquers all? I dunno, go and ask Bruce Wayne or something. The records don't have sentimental stuff like love and the consequences thereof, just the outcome of things that happened."

Tim sighed, "you're not much use, are you..." he groused.

"Hey, I got you here, didn't I?" Jason snapped back lazily.

"Technically, no you didn't.  _I_  drove  _us_  here." Tim retorted.

"I offered to  _fly_  us here, you said no. Ain't muh fault..."

Tim was about to say something along the line of being seen while flying would be the quickest way to get them both shot out of the sky, when a voice came from the door.

"This is incredible!"

The voice was a little too young to be the voice of Bruce Wayne that Tim remembered from TV. He turned around only to shriek and nearly leaped few feet away to where Jason was sitting, as a  _trunk_  started sniffing him.

"Oh, sorry, this is Zitka. Bruce will be here in a bit. I'm Dick Grayson." the voice said, and Tim's vision finally managed to zoom out from the trunk to realize that: a. the voice didn't come from the small elephant, and b. there was a guy standing behind the St. Bernard-sized elephant. It took another half a second for Tim to realize that c. the elephant was a familiar, and not an actual elephant.

And then the introduction of the guy behind the elephant suddenly made sense to him.

Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne's adopted son, had come from the circus. Haly's Circus, to be exact, a circus full of wizards and witches of all shapes and forms who were specifically using their magick to entertain the non-magi and get away with it while being in plain sight. Obviously, there were elephants in a circus, and Tim inwardly thanked Mother Nature that Dick Grayson's familiar was not a tiger, instead.

Tim, however, was a little more familiar with Dick Grayson than he would like to think of. Did Tim knew Dick Grayson? He wanted to scream. Dick Grayson, only the greatest magi showman Tim has ever seen - second only to Zatanna Zatara, and maybe the elder Zatara whom Tim has never seen perform live.

Dick was a part of an aerial show, the Flying Graysons. Following his adoption by Gotham's own billionaire, Bruce Wayne, he would often state he was half fae, half elf, half imp, and would state adamantly that all three halves are within him. There were dozens of magazine quotes of him saying that, and no one had taken him seriously - partly thanks to his good looks and charm. Tim, however,  _might_  just taken him a little too seriously; especially since he was actually there at the circus on the night Dick's parents were murdered.

John and Mary Grayson, Dick's parents, had fallen off the trapeze swings, thanks to a delayed spell that rendered them unable to summon their respective familiars to help them as the cables snapped off. That was the first time Tim had realized that he was able to see the distraught familiars, along with the then-ten-years-old Dick Grayson, huddling around the deceased bodies of John and Mary Grayson. The familiars then dissipated as more people came closer to comfort and help Dick.

The memories felt fresh in his head, until he felt Jason's hand on his shoulder. "Oh, hi... I'm Tim Drake. This is Jason..." he extended a hand, which was accepted with quite an unabashed enthusiasm by the older man.

"I know, Alfred told me. I've never seen a changeling familiar before. Hi, Jason!" he greeted Jason, who had given him a lazy two-fingered salute. "Hi, Tim Drake. I'd ask what brought you two here, but Bruce might want to know the same and it'll be moot to repeat. So..." Dick shrugged and smiled disarmingly. "You're not scared of animals, are you?" he asked as Zitka the elephant continued to sniff Tim. "She's just checking if you're safe."

"I'm..." Tim turned and looked into Zitka's eyes. "...not scared. Just..." he blinked. Zitka - again - blinked, too. "yeah, usually the animal-shaped familiars are... less elephant and more cats or owls or something like that."

"She likes you," Jason told him.

"She's not a cat, Jason." Tim replied, still glaring at Zitka, who blinked just as Tim blinked.

"Well, I'm not a cat, either. But I can tell she likes you." Jason insisted.

"I can confirm that, actually. Zitka thinks you're safe." Dick confirmed. "Come along, boys! Bruce will meet you in the kitchen, it'll be more fun to talk while having tea and Alfred's tartlets!"


	6. Chapter 6

Bruce Wayne was everything the media portrayed - and none of it. In the media, he was a dork - and that was Tim's conscience being nice. He would bumble his way through an interview while tripping over his own feet and laughed a little too loudly and too cheerfully for someone who was supposed to be in eternal mourning. Yet in the realm of his own house, under the gentle lighting and fading sunlight streaming into the kitchen nook that they were going to have tea at, he looked large and imposing and dark. Tim could feel the hair on his nape stood on end.

"Bruce! Look who got in!" Dick announced cheerfully, as Zitka huffed a little on his side. Bruce looked up from the large tablet he was holding, and Tim had to school his own thought to  _not_  think of this man as someone who would eliminate evil supernatural beings for fun and that he shouldn't be counted as evil. And by 'he' Tim meant himself. Nope, he's not. Tim was just a kid. Surely Bruce wouldn't think of him as a threat?

When he spoke, Tim was floored.

"Ah, the Boy Who Lives." he said in booming baritone, nary a hint of the high-pitched, vapid playboy persona he would display for the media.

Tim's eye-roll was involuntary, but Dick caught it and laughed. Even Jason was snickering at him.

"Really, Mr Wayne, of all the things you could call me..." Tim groaned.

"What? Dick made me watch the movies and then read the books - 'as reference,' he said." Bruce said. "And call me Bruce, please. 'Mr Wayne' made me sound old."

"You are," Tim blurted, and quickly added, "...older than I am, frankly. I mean it's just a sign of respect to call you mister and all. And my parents taught me manners and they're useful in the boardrooms and whatnot. But some people just..."

"Tim, breathe." Jason said. Tim breathed. "He's not gonna like, unsheathe a sword and lop your head off. So chill."

"Yes, I'm not gonna do any of those. First of all, I have no sword in my present right now. And foremost, Alfred does not appreciate bloodstains on his good China." Bruce pointed out. "Have a seat, both of you, please, indulge! It's rare that Dick and I have company during tea time!" he gestured toward the set of chairs across him. His eyes might not have focused solely on either of them, yet Tim realized that from where he sat, he could have seen the entirety of the kitchen from the indoor entrance to the backdoor exit. The large window next to him would have given him a good vantage point of the backyard.

A standard for warlocks, really. They would sit in a place where they could see threat coming in - from whatever form of threat. The house was heavily hexed and protected with a plethora of spells that would render any stranger uncomfortable - this Tim could feel right away, and the changes thereof once Alfred mentioned about adjusting it.

And somehow, it warmed his heart a little when he realized that Alfred was so willing to lower the house's defenses especially for him and Jason. Alfred was also  _manually_  pouring tea to cups for him  _and_  Jason. Whether the old man was humoring Jason, or knew that he could behave like a normal human being, Tim couldn't tell. But he didn't mind. He was certain that Jason, too, didn't mind.

The tea was hot and fragrant, and there were tartlets that Tim indulged happily - it has been a while since he'd eaten anything homemade; and he was quite certain that Alfred would have made the tartlets manually. They drink and ate somewhat a little quietly. Tim noticed that Dick was feeding Zitka chunks of fruit out of a basket, and that Jason was watching them with amusement in his eyes.

"Alright, then. Now that the formalities are done, boys are fed, how can I help you, Timothy?" Bruce asked.

"I..." Tim hesitated and looked at Jason. "Well, Jason brought me some news that he thought I should share with you..."

Bruce's eyes refocused on Jason. "From the Acres of All." he stated, not asked.

"From S'aru." Jason replied. "He's aware of the place I was trained at, and its proprietors. He's just never gotten a chance to go there." he added, telling Tim.

"Oh, okay..." Tim remarked. "Anyway... maybe Jason should reiterate..."

"No, it's your call." Jason sighed. "You should reveal things I've told you on your own discretion. I mean, it's not like you'll want to tell random strangers that you have pink toothbrush, right?"

Tim sent him a death glare as Dick snickered. "I do  _not_  have pink toothbrush!"

"Zitka said you looked familiar to her." Dick remarked.

"She did?" Tim perked up. "I mean, wow. I didn't even see her back then..."

"See her?"

"Uh... yeah... I was... I guess I should've told you first and foremost. I was there when... your parents--" Tim stammered, feeling his cheeks started to burn when Dick didn't say anything. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean to bring up bad memories..."

Dick smiled, "Oh no, I remember you, alright. You took a picture with us before we started the show, didn't you?"

Tim perked up again. "Yes! I mean, my parents and I did. It was..." he swallowed around the lump that suddenly appeared in his throat. "...well, the first and last time I went to a circus-- with my parents." he smiled, and knowing well that his smile was lame and forced; a distorted mirror of Dick's cheery smile.

"Sorry that your first ended up badly for you." he said. "But anyway, yeah, I guess you wouldn't have seen Zitka because I haven't earned her, yet. She came to be with me once I moved in with Bruce. It was a little soon, since I was only ten, but--" he shrugged. "Circumstances, you know how it goes. Plus, she was an inheritance from my mom."

"I imagine your warlock ancestors must be squirming in their graves that you brought in a magi-fae kid home..." Jason smirked at Bruce. The latter grinned back.

"I bet they were... lest they have ran out of squirms when my  _mother_ joined the household." Bruce replied. "So, now that we've established our familiarites - no pun intended, Zitka - what was it, then, that brought you to my home?"

Tim inhaled slowly, rearranging the things Jason had told him a few nights ago. "'The rise of the Untitled is coming, and they're heading for Gotham to open the portal of the Underworld and bring forth the elimination of non-magickal beings.'" he quoted.

Bruce and Dick was quiet as they stared at each other, neither paid attention to when Zitka stole a whole apple from the table.

"That's... a heavy premonition." Bruce remarked.

"S'aru doesn't understand embellishment." Jason replied, shrugging. "He's like, the All-Seeing being. Only he's also a lazy bum who doesn't like to move around and too far away from his beloved hookah. Kind of like Alice in Wonderland's Caterpillar, only he doesn't change to butterfly." he told Tim.

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "I didn't know literature is a part of a familiar's training. Or did you pick that up from Tim?" he asked excitedly.  _Excitedly_  - to the point where Tim and Jason literally glared at him in confusion.

"Not all familiars - like not all mages - live in the medieval era, Mr. Wayne." Jason retorted. "Some of us enjoyed the outside world's depiction of our world, some even have their own technological stuff, like social media." Tim's head turned so fast toward Jason that his neck cricked. "What? Ever seen those cute or scary cats or other animal accounts on Photogram?"

"Seriously??" Tim and Dick chorused. Tim was almost sure that even Alfred's cool demeanor changed just a tick.

Jason exchanged his glares between the two of them. "Some of them may be the work of a human who has nothing to do than to pretend to be their cats, but some are..." he shrugged nonchalantly. "Anyway, yes, magnificent tea, Mr Pennyworth, since my magi seemed to have forgotten his manners." Jason told Alfred with a big, disarming smile that was almost as bright as Dick's.

"Wow... okay, Zitka, you don't plan to open your own Photogram account, do you?" Dick asked Zitka, who trumpeted softly. "Right, I'm..." Dick turned around to glare blankly at Bruce. "wow, Zitka said he's right. And I'm starting to worry about who my Photogram followers actually are."

"They don't follow anyone but their magi, Grayson... isn't that obvious?" Jason smirked.

" _You're_  not thinking of having a Photogram account, do you?" Tim demanded to Jason. The latter shrugged.

"I don't see the benefit of it just yet. Maybe once you're settled, or my presence is announced or whatever. I'd love my own account to the BookNook, though." Jason beamed at him. Tim had to actually  _will_  himself not to gape.

"...You seriously  _read_." he stated.

"Well, then, our library might be... entertaining for you." Bruce quipped, smirking slightly. "Right, Alfred?" On the side, Dick groaned.

"Yes, indeed. Master Richard may only liked written words that can be quickly summarized and preferably read-to for him. You, however, may prefer a physical form that can be..." Alfred suddenly quieted his voice for a moment before continuing. "...that is, if your Magi is alright with it? It is getting quite late, and I do not believe Master Tim's driver's license allowed him to drive at night."

Tim shrugged. "I can drive just fine."

"Yes, but my conscience would not allow me to look away from it," Bruce explained. "Plus, it's Gotham. It's... not safe out there for  _anyone_  to be out at night," he added, emphasizing on 'anyone'.

"You know I'm a magi, right?" Tim protested. "and I have my big and strong familiar with me..."

"It's not just the dangers from the real world, Timmers..." Dick intoned. "We... Bruce and I and some of our...  _allies_  - we have known that there is something brewing that's dangerous for everyone and everything we held dear. We sure won't wish you to stumble into it accidentally."

"It might help to allow these young men to understand your stance, Master Bruce..." Alfred suggested quietly. Bruce looked at Dick, probably to ask for his opinion.

"I dunno... he's still really young..." Dick sighed.

"As were  _you_ , Master Dick..." Alfred reminded. Dick grimaced. Tim thought that they might have had this kind of discussion a few times too many, as Dick opened his mouth to say something, only to be met with Alfred's cold glare and tick of eyebrow, and Dick deflated.

"Fine, fine... tell him." Dick grumbled.

Bruce nodded. "Alright, I hereby cordially ask you both to spend the night, gentlemen. There are... things that I would like to discuss with you that might require time, and as I've said before, I don't like you driving at night. So, will you stay?"

"I don't bring an overnight bag..." Tim still hedged, a little uncomfortable with the offer, in spite of realizing that Bruce had meant well and not likely to... do anything untoward. "It's just... I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude. Just that it's kind of weird."

"Oh, I understand. Very well, then. At least stay for dinner, it should be in a few hours. Afterward, you can let me know if you would stay or not." Bruce remarked.

"What are we supposed to do in a few hours?" Tim couldn't resist asking.

"Well," Dick's grin was a little unsettling. "...we can always go play in the dungeons."

That strangely felt like a challenge. And Tim's brain, a millennial brain that never understood that it would be safer to back away from a challenge, overrode his self-preservation instincts and said, "Sounds great!" followed by an inward cringe and a glare toward Jason and a deep suspicion that Jason was the millennial voice agreeing to such mischievous and potentially-dangerous summon.

"Oh no, I did  _not_  say you may play in a dungeon! That was on you. I, on the contrary, prefer to roam about in the library!" Jason protested.

"You're not much help as a familiar, are you..." Tim groused.

"I can only do so much for a kid who has no self-preservation instincts, Timmy." Jason replied smugly.

"I do, too, have self-preservation instincts!" Tim protested. Lied.

"Suuure... anyway, if he does a bad touch, feel free to holler." Jason quipped. Dick chortled heartily.

"Oh, man! I think Babs would love you," he told Jason as he got up from the table. "Come on, guys! Let's meet the brain behind all of these magicks!"


	7. Chapter 7

The 'dungeon', thankfully, was not a literal dungeon. Or as Dick explained, it  _was_  once upon a time planned to be one; "but then the Salem Witch Trials happened, and the Wayne grandpa - or was it great-grandpa? I can't remember.. Anyway, he was so distraught by the blatant misogyny and stupid; he cancelled the building of witch-proof dungeon and instead built a wizard-safe laboratory of some sort like this. And by 'safe' I mean we can do things in here that no one beyond these walls would know, notice, or otherwise sense. Lo and behold!"

The last part of his story was emphasized by a sliding door that was hidden behind a grandfather clock. If Tim didn't see him pressing his hand on a panel nearby, he would have thought that the door was opened by magick. Behind the door was a dark, long set of stairs. Or maybe it wasn't that long, it just seemed like it because it was dark.

"Bruce will join us in a bit. Come on!" Dick prompted. "The light would come in after you're on step three..." he showed by going in. A single light lit up above his head. "See? Come on!"

"Hoookay..." Tim breathed. Jason has long since disappearing with Alfred to go elsewhere - presumably the library. Tim knew that there was the same amount of hexes and protection spells behind the clock - he could feel them, but did not feel threatened by them. "If I scream, Jason might pummel your face, just so you know." he reminded Dick, who waited patiently on the fifth stair.

"Oh, I know. He looks nonchalant, but inside he's actually very,  _very_ chalant." Dick remarked, straight-faced.

"What?" Tim nearly stumbled onto him when the lights behind him switched off and he rushed to catch up.

"You know, the opposite of 'non'-chalant?" Dick replied.

Tim rolled his eyes. "Really." he said dryly. "There's no such word..."

"Who's to say that? Language is fluid, Timber, I can create words today; and tomorrow, it'll be in the dictionary." Dick announced.

Tim managed to  _not_  roll his eyes, simply by realizing that if he does it again, he would stumble to the bottom of the stairs that was still long and dark and only illuminated as Dick stepped on the next concurrent steps. Dick eventually picked up speed and the lights got brighter until they reached the end of the tunnel to another door.

"Might want to shield your eyes. Babs hates darkness." Dick warned.

"Who's--" before Tim could ask who 'Babs' was, the door opened and light flooded the tunnel. Tim had to wince and squint to allow his eyes to adjust to the light.

Once his eyes adjusted, he gasped at the sight. There were rows and rows of servers, and if Tim didn't know better, he would have thought that he was in the server room of a corporate bank or something. But there were something about those servers that felt foreboding to him, as if they were using a different kind of electricity to power them, and Tim did not feel like they came from solar power or anything else he'd known to generate electricity.

"How..." he croaked, cleared his throat, and continued. "...how are these powered?" he asked, unconsciously glad that Dick seemed to see his uneasiness and remained within arm's reach.

"Oh, that's Babs' secret. You might want to ask her." Dick smiled. Tim honestly hoped that 'Babs' was a human being and not... some sort of ethereal or otherwise supernatural creature, e.g. a dragon who provided the electricity with its breath or something like that. Hey, he hasn't seen a lot of dragons. But nobody ever told him that dragons can't spit out electricity. If they can spit out fire out with their stomach acid, who's to say they couldn't spit out electricity? The general principle of electricity is consistent accumulation and friction of protons and electrons, after all. Even a small cat could accumulate static electricity... why can't a big dragon?

But said little voice that hoped for an electricity-spittin' dragon was squashed when they rounded a corner and found, among the massive set of monitors that stretched from approximately waist-high all the way to the ceiling, a chair and a keyboard on a desk, complete with coffee mugs and jars of snacks and several personal items. To his surprise, the chair was not actually a common computer chair, but a wheelchair.

"Babs?" Dick called. A voice called back from somewhere among the monitors that - frankly - fueled Tim's imagination of some sort of imp that fixes monitors or computers by physically going through it.

"Here, just a second." said the voice. After a few seconds, a red-haired person rolled out from under the desk. "Oh, hi, didn't know we had company!"

Tim blinked. Not only the person was 'regular' - as in non-magickal at all, she was also a familiar face. Barbara Gordon, the daughter of Police Commissioner, James Gordon. Barbara was a beautifully enigmatic, scary smart person with eidetic memory who could give Tim's brain an inferiority complex; and the proprietor of several renewable-energy initiatives that are being implemented by the city which, sadly, did not include dragon-based electricity.

"Was there an actual dragon-based electricity?" Tim's mouth blurted out before his manners could catch up. He promptly cringed and added, "I'm-- sorry. I'm... Hi, I'm Tim Drake." he introduced himself.

Barbara smiled and extended a hand. "Not as far as I've heard, but if you can find a dragon that can generate electricity and willing to do it for a small fee - preferably ones that don't include live creatures; do let me know!" she replied. "Also, if you can't hold up while I pull myself up to the chair, let me know. I don't want to pull you and we both stumble back to the ground." she added.

"Oh, no, I can... I think I can hold on." Tim replied and readied his stance as he accepted Barbara's hand. She apparently only needed Tim's arm as a hoisting point, because she pulled herself off the ground easily and maneuvered back into her wheelchair with such amazing ease that showed her upper body strength.

Tim was not surprised, really. He had seen interviews with Barbara that was taken after the incident that left her paralyzed from waist down. A former ballerina and martial artist, Barbara had patiently explained in the interview why she had the handles on the back of her wheelchair removed. She was not one who could handle pity and does not like to be pushed around without her explicit consent, she'd said, and Tim agreed. He might have never been physically disabled, but he knew how pity worked - and how many people have tried to pile it on him when his mother had died and dad got paralyzed. The 'pushing around' part, too, resonated aloud within Tim. 

"Okay," Barbara remarked once she was seated. "Didn't tell me you were going to bring guests, Dick. But nice to meet you, Tim Drake. Do you guys need something?"

"Bruce is going to explain what we do to Tim here and his familiar - if he can drag said familiar from the library." Dick told her, and then turned to Tim. "Barbara here is our personal Oracle, literally and figuratively," he explained.

And then Tim realized that Barbara was wearing a nearly invisible tiara. A magickal invisible tiara that emanated strong old-magick that made Tim's heart flutter all of the sudden. "Goddesses... you're literally the Oracle of Delphi!" he exclaimed. The tiara, he knew, was an artifact. His father had found it - or rather, his mother did and his father was the one who took the credit. He knew it well, because mother was not happy at the credit, and his dad kept claiming that she had found it accidentally, so it didn't count.

It took Tim his powers manifesting, along with mother's death, to realize that the discovery was not incidental at all. It should have been stored in the Gotham Museum, like everything else they had discovered from the dig. Tim knew it as a definite fact, because he was there - it was one of the very rare few times that his parents had brought him along to an event.

Tim's expression must have revealed his thoughts - somebody in Bruce Wayne's team must have somewhat 'repossess' the tiara and gave it to Barbara; because she suddenly gasped and commented, "Oh my, he can see-- you can see the tiara, can't you?"

Tim nodded slowly, his eyes still didn't leave Barbara's tiara. "It should've been in the museum." he stated darkly. "Why do you have it."

Barbara smiled, "I've had it for a while now, Tim. I didn't steal it, if that's what you're insinuating without even intoning." she said. "Your mother... Dick, did you know whose son he is when you got him here?" she suddenly turned to Dick.

Dick shrugged. "Sure, Jack Drake's son."

"Jack and  _Janet_  Drake's son.  _Jan_ 's son!" her eyes was glistening when she turned back to Tim. "She was... Tim, your mother was a hero."

Tim shrugged, this time. "I know, she saved dad's life..."

"Oh no, no, no..." Barbara waved her hand. "Oh goodness... That was just... while saving your father's life is not less heroic, regardless of the result of her demise; that's not what I meant. Jan...  _Janet_  was one of us. But she always knew that she would not be around long enough to watch her son grow up.

"She gave me this tiara right after they discovered it, almost three years ago. The one at Gotham Museum is a fake that she'd glamoured - so that any magickal person who'd seen it would think it's the real deal. It's been... how many times now that it's been 'stolen'? Four?" she mused. "But  _I_ didn't steal it. She said I should use it to focus my sensitivity and that it will help me focus it. Here--" she turned toward the computer console and keyboards. "...I'm sorry if this would hurt you, but I've got the feeling that you won't let this go without solid evidence."

"Oh man, Babs, you sure...? It wasn't... I mean, I flipped whenever I see mine, even like, just a photograph. Why..." Dick sighed, protesting.

"He's not like you, Dick. He's Jan's son." Barbara cut him off and skimmed through a whole list of folders, and then opened a video file. "You can see here," she pointed to a monitor and handed him a set of headphones.

The video began playing, and Barbara fast-forward it to a certain set of time. It generally showed her in an office building that Tim didn't recognize. She was already in the wheelchair, and by that, Tim could tell that it was after her incident a year before his mother's death. He knew, from Barbara's hint and Dick's reaction, what to expect. But still, he gasped when his mother walked into the room and toward Barbara. It was a brief exchange, showing his mother handing something toward Barbara, saying the exact thing Barbara said earlier, "this should help with your sensitivity. Now that you're not going out too much, your senses would go all haywire, and this will help you focus it."

Whatever it is Barbara said, Tim stopped caring as he focused on his mother. Even in a video, her features have started to be out blurry and out of focus, as it would with other full-blooded fae when they have died. Tim knew that he shouldn't try to remember her face. The books said that when a fae was killed, they would only fully get the freedom of the body and the choice of whether or not they would want to return to the realm of the living once their descendants forget about their previous appearances.

"Why did you show him that?" Jason was suddenly beside him, covering Tim with his arms and wings and all. "and for  _goddess'_  sake, what the hell is it with the clock?? I had to wait for Alfred to open the thing!" he added, snarling toward Dick.

"Oh wow, he's... he must be--" Barbara gasped.

"...the familiar. Yeah. That's actually what I meant by not making him distressed. He kind of got a very protective familiar." Dick added. "Babs was just showing Tim how she'd gotten something from his mother." he explained to Jason.

"I'm al--" Tim's voice sounded a little too small, even for him. So he cleared his throat. "I'm alright, Jason. Just-- Sorry... I didn't think that seeing her again..." he blinked rapidly, trying to settle the tears that were starting to burn his eyes. "We're supposed to forget so she can be free, right? I'm... I couldn't even remember what she smelled like." A big droplet of tears stubbornly refused to get back in and fell onto Tim's cheek.

Jason hugged him tight, but his wings were starting to disappear. "I'm sorry," he said.

"Why?" Barbara asked curiously. "What does he mean by having to forget?"

"A fae would make everyone forget them once their physical self died." Jason explained. "And by 'everyone', I mean their descendants. Once they are fully and truly forgotten, then they would have the option to return again to a human life, or other things."

"Does that mean there aren't faes who are... Mexican, then?" Dick wanted to know, and then cringed. "Ugh, I sounded racist. Sorry."

Jason scoffed. "There are... just not the... recent ones with clear photos, I guess. They just need to kind of 'forget' the actual appearance. Like, if you have a mole on your left cheek and your great-great grandkid doesn't know it because your photo was taken as a right-side profile, you're good to go." he explained. "And yes, you sounded racist, jerk."

"He's... delightful. And a bit possessive of his Magi, huh?" Barbara observed. "I'm Barbara, do you have a name?" she asked Jason.

"Jason." Jason replied shortly, even without looking Tim knew that his eyes were fixated on Barbara's tiara. "Well, it's pretty rare to see someone who has control of the Phythia's crown." he commented. "Does it require a modern-day fog a.k.a. hallucinogens to work?"

Dick gasped and Barbara coughed a laugh. "Oh my, he's..." Barbara remarked.

"Salty, I was about to warn you that. Was that you or you?" Dick asked, pointing alternately between Jason and Tim.

"Both," they chorused, and Tim promptly cringed. "Sorry, it's just... history believed that the Phythias used some hallucinogens. I just want to make sure..."

"The earlier ones didn't," Jason replied. "The latter ones... let's just say they weren't blessed with the channel for Apollo's foreseeing abilities and were trying to not make the empire collapse."

"'Try' being the operative word, I presume..." Barbara quipped.

"Yeeeah, well... the tiara was lost after a while. Presumably hidden." Jason replied.

"Presumed correctly to be hidden. My mom didn't find that in Delphi or even near Delphi." Tim said. A thought randomly came to his mind and he took a single step away from Jason, out of his embrace. "By the way, is there an electricity-generating dragon?"

Jason glared at him. "Of all the exciting things you could ask while being in the inner sanctum of the modern-day Oracle,  _that's_  what you want to know?" he scowled.

"Yes." Tim replied, surprised to hear his 'yes' echoed by both Dick and Barbara.

Jason sighed exasperatedly. "Yes there is. Don't ask me if I can get to them or how to contact them, --do  _not_  ask how I know or if they still exist. Just-- can we focus on whatever this thing is Bruce wanted to show us and-or-you?" he snapped.

Barbara snickered. "Okay, then... I think Bruce is coming down in a bit, he's a bit surprised at you zipping past him down the hallway and was checking on us. But let's start over, shall we?" she told them as she wheeled her chair to the center of the room. And then she turned and stated enigmatically, "Gentlemen, welcome to the Oracle's Lair. How can I help?"

Bruce, who had just rounded the corner, remarked; "how do we stop the Untitled?"


	8. Chapter 8

It took the whole night, as Bruce mentioned, to explain the whole nine yards of their activities to Tim. The whole activity of battling magickal people and creature out to create disturbances - or simply acts of crime that would have garnered unwelcome attention to those with Magickal aptitude.

The research and explaining activities eventually concluded by a lavish dinner that Tim was  _sure_  would have required a good sized magickal aptitude to prepare and present and Alfred adamantly stated that he did  _not_  use magick to prepare said dinner. By the time they finished dinner, the clock showed 10 p.m., and Tim was seriously ready to curl up in one of the cozy couches and sleep. It was only his sheer stubbornness that kept denying that Bruce would have been right in saying he was in no shape to drive back home.

Jason, however, was not having any of his stubbornness. "Alfred has prepared a bedroom, this is the Wayne Manor that has more security than Fort Knox - literally and magickally; there are more food than I have ever seen in  _your_  fridge in the past  _week_. Plus there's a library." he pointed the last one out decisively.

"You may stay here if you want..." Tim grumbled.

"We still haven't figured out how to defeat the Untitled." Jason insisted.

"My eyes refused to comprehend letters anymore. Even if we -  _I_  - chose to stay the night, I just simply don't English anymore." Tim retorted.

"I'll try not to summon the demon into your head while I read Latin stuff, no English needed."

"I'm... tremendously amused at the sight of Tim arguing with his familiar, and can't decide if I'm more amused at the argument, or at the fact that the familiar is winning." Dick stated.

"You argued with Zitka all the time, Dick; we just don't hear her answers... That, I can tell you both, is even more entertaining." Barbara quipped. "If you still wish to go home, Dick and I can take you; but I suppose leaving your car here would be a problem..."

"Yeah, it is." Tim pouted. Leaving the car would mean he would have no other mode of transportation to get it back. And since the Wayne Manor ground was out of the public transport lines, he simply didn't want to think of the few miles of  _walking_  that he would need to take when he should come back and retrieve his car.

"We don't generally go in and out solo, around here." Barbara added. "Day time, I'd go on my own, it's okay. Night time, especially since I hold the tiara and has no magick within me, I'd rather not risk it."

"The... dark side of the supernaturals don't tend to do well under the sun." Jason explained.

"So the lore  _did_  come from facts, after all." Bruce mused. Jason turned and looked at him contemplatively.

"All lores came from facts and truths, Bruce. It's just the matter of who's telling them and how many embellishments they would put into it." he remarked. "Even the story of Pinocchio." he added, smirking a little ruefully.

"Ah yes, Conner Kent; Clark's effigy." Bruce commented idly, and Tim glared warningly at Jason.

"Ugh, don't fret, Timmers. He already knew of your little band of misfits. I didn't say anything." Jason quipped, and then stretched like a cat across the couch he and Tim were sitting on.

"We're not misfits!" Tim protested. "--and you just  _did_  say something!" he snapped at Jason.

"No, you're not," Dick interjected. "But you forgot that your friends were relatives or wards of  _our_  friends, too..."

Tim groaned, remembering that while his friends - 'band of misfits' as Jason called them - had gotten together on their own as 'orphans', not all of them were literal orphans. Like Cassie, who actually shared the same father as Diana Prince a.k.a. Wonder Woman and Donna Troy. The former was known to have made allies with Bruce and Clark and a team called 'Justice League', while the latter was Dick's best friend and had made a team called 'Titans'. Bart Allen might have come from the future, but he was a direct descendant of Barry Allen - who had been in said team prior to his death. Conner, in all obviousness, has connections to Clark and live in Clark's parents' home in Kansas. Rachel, while never had a connection to Bruce, was a member of Dick's previous team before she decided that those in Titans were 'too old' for her 16-year-old self.

"Thanks, Jason, just like Conner had asked us  _not_  to do..." Tim groused under his breath.

"I personally was hoping that your coming here was an excuse to form alliance with us," Bruce said. Tim glared at him dubiously.

"We're not... we didn't do anything harmful." he said, hedging. "And no, that's not why I came. I came to let you know of Jason's warning."

"Not help us fight it, then?" Dick asked softly. "Your team has some of the most powerful magi in it, why not help us?"

"You cannot force them, Dick..." Barbara replied. "They need to make the decision for themselves - they're not sidekicks, like you were."

"Being a sidekick taught me a lot, Babs," Dick told her.

" _Not_  being a sidekick also taught  _me_  a lot, Dick; and at the end of the day, I can manage fine on my own, yet chose to pick the bigger picture as I see fit." she reminded. "Don't let them bully you into doing anything you don't want to do, Tim. Not even if the bullying came from Jason." she added, glaring at Jason, who shrugged nonchalantly.

"Hey, I'm only bullying him to stay the night so I can peruse the library." Jason offered. "I promise. That's all I wanted." he added when Tim directed what should have been a very effective death glare at him. Hey, said death-glare would have made Conner shriek in horror. Only on Jason, it seemed to be kind of useless. Tim wondered if his glare was defective, or if Jason felt like he was simply looking into a mirror when Tim glared at him.

After about three seconds of glare-off, Tim finally conceded. "Fine, we'll stay the night." Jason beamed. "But  _just_  this night. Tomorrow we get out of here at the crack of dawn, or I'm  _leaving_  you here!" he threatened. Jason's growled in indignation - Jason was not allowed to leave his Magi behind, but the Magi can make the familiar stay in one place, away from him.

Tim ignored him and turned to face Bruce. "As for my... friends, I can't and won't decide anything on their behalf. I will need to speak to them first and foremost, and that's not gonna happen until this weekend."

Bruce nodded slowly. "I understand."

"Wait, I'm not done. Whatever it is you think we're doing, we're not heroes, alright. We're just kids. We just needed a place that... where we can hang out and maybe help each other with our own problems; you know. We don't need... more problems." he asserted.

Bruce nodded again. "I understand," he repeated. "but I would prefer that you - of all people, considering that it was  _your_  familiar who brought in the news - know in advance of what you could be facing and how to face it. Jason might be able to show you books that show possible forms of threats; but you will need to know how to resolve them with the modern world in mind. You simply cannot barge in - no matter how strong you are - without considering other people." was the added warning.

"Oh, I know all about cellphone cams and CCTVs..." Tim started.

"What about the general public? The opinionated ones?" Dick asked. "The ones who talked about a bunch of kids who seemed like they're going to blow up that Drake Islet or make concoctions that would poison the entire Pacific?"

"They're just..." Tim froze. "How did you know of... he's just a jealous little wannabe magi who's not even a homo magi. I mean, he was like, a magician - the rabbit-out-of-a-hat kind of magician. He's..." he sighed. "You folks already know all these, don't you?" he concluded.

"Yes, I have some bots that would change the context of an online mention of you to something... well, more 'teen' activities than 'magi' activities. If things exploded, I'd change it to an experiment gone haywire - not demons being driven back to hell." Barbara admitted. "But if you want me to stop, I will."

"I think you can only ask her to stop when you're a legal adult." Dick told him. "But considering the things he'd said about you and your band of teenage alleged-'misfits', quote-unquote, you'll need to be more careful if you're to appear in public. I know how unpredictable the West Coast could be at times, but..." he shrugged. "...yeah, more careful is all I can say for now."

Tim inhaled slowly and exhaled just as slowly. If anyone asked, he would say he trusted Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, and Barbara Gordon with his life - even before knowing that they had worked with his mom. But there were others he should put into consideration, i.e. his friends.

But then again, there were times where he had hoped he'd known what to do when an emergency should arise. Barbara was right, there were times where he and his friends had needed to appear within the city of San Francisco itself and show their magickal strength to repel things - usually small-timed demons - and make them go back to the hell they came from. Thus far, Tim and Rachel was able to keep cameras and the likes from capturing them - using a lot of reflective surfaces and Rachel's deep-black 'soul self', an astral projection of her soul.

But a few months ago, they had met a guy - probably about a few years older than Tim, who had accidentally unleashed some dark magick due to his ignorance of spells and hexes. Tim couldn't resist berating the guy's ears off, after they managed to contain the darkness. Since then, the guy seemed adamant to discredit them by all means. His photos - obviously - were wrecked and not view-able, but didn't stop him from reiterating the whole event in great detail.

Tim knew that if a non-magi should see the Photogram or Mugbuddy story, they might simply say the guy, Lonnie Machin, has a great skill for storytelling and cute imagination. But a magi who was up-to-date to the world of magick would have seen through the flowery description and noticed what was happening right away.

"I can't promise much," Tim finally decided, realizing that while the demons or random dark magick were virtually 'easy' to handle, it took all of their concentration and metaphorical firepower to handle those  _and_  keep themselves hidden from plain sight. The offer of alliance with one of the most powerful team of Magi in the world sounded incredibly enticing, yet a bit worrying. "I'll talk to my friends, and I'll try to present this idea as... unbiased as possible. I don't like the idea of you being... I mean, they don't know you and all. And you're all adults." he reasoned.

"That's fair. You don't want us to influence you too much that you'd lose your own independence and identity," Barbara elaborated. "He's got a point, Bruce," she continued. "They should figure it out as a team, not just because it's demanded of them. They may be young... but we've had this conversation before."

Bruce exhaled slowly, and eventually said, "alright. I shall trust your team's judgment, whatever they decide - whether or not they would ally themselves with JL. But I trust you that we shall never be foes, yes?"

"Yeeeah, as much as Jason said I don't have a sense of self-preservation, I'm not nuts enough to make enemies out of the most powerful team of Magis in the world." Tim rolled his eyes. "Besides, my mom trusted you with a lot of artifacts - oh yes, Bruce, I noticed the door knocker, some hinges, vases, ornaments that should've been placed in a museum. I wasn't sure at first, until I saw the tiara. I presumed she'd given you some of those..."

"...some, yes. Some I've acquired, really. I paid for the digs." Bruce smirked. His sigh brought on a wistfulness to his face that caught Tim a little off-guard. "Jan was... the best, Tim. I am honored to have known her. Her... insistence on doing the right thing could be unnerving at times. But she was more than just a worthy ally. She was a friend."

Tim nodded slowly. But he has made up his mind; he would not 'sell' the alliance, but rather present it to the gang as an opportunity to learn and grow.

His mind and brain, too, has made up something else. Before he realized it, he yawned wide.

"Oh dear," Alfred remarked. "for all of his magickal strength, gentlemen, Miss Gordon, young Master Drake here is still a young 'un, I perceive." he said. "Your chamber is ready, Master Tim, if you wish to turn in now." he offered.

"Yeah, I guess... I guess I will." Tim admitted. "Bruce, Dick, Barbara... thank you... at least for letting me know that my mom was-- wasn't..." he stopped as the lump in his throat started to make it impossible to speak without actually sobbing.

"Tim, it's  _we_  who should thank you, and she." Barbara replied, rolling closer to him and tugged his shirt sleeves. As he bent over, she placed a gentle kiss on his temple. "Sleep well, buddy. I'll stay in touch."

Tim just nodded, he couldn't find the words to say when Bruce squeezed his shoulder and Dick ruffled his hair. He definitely welcomed Jason's arm wrapping around his shoulders as  _Jason_  begged to be excused and steered him to follow Alfred.

It was only after he'd brushed his teeth and changed to a set of pajamas - his size, which is not too surprising considering  _Alfred_ ; that he slumped onto the bed and wept. For the mother he had never known; for the hero who had protected more than just her son and husband; for the soul of Janet Drake, that should be set free, if Tim could find it in him to actually forget her.

Jason kept quiet and wrapped his arms around Tim in an embrace as he cried, until he fell asleep.


	9. Chapter 9

By breakfast, Bruce was not there. Dick had gone back to the city with Barbara, and Alfred said that Bruce has "some business to attend to in the city, Sir,"

Tim figured that he was just getting the hell out of dodge to prevent the awkward discomfort between he and Tim. But then again, he'd woken up at 9, and was about to let Alfred know that he wouldn't be needing breakfast when Jason walked in with a croissant in his mouth and an announcement that his "holy massive breakfast, Tim!" was ready.

"I wasn't about to be such a hassle, Alfred," he told Alfred. The old butler/daimon scoffed.

"No such thing, Master Tim. You are as much part of the household as Master Dick is." he said. Tim could swear that Alfred's eyes had twinkled when he told Jason, who was about to protest, "and you as much as a part of the household as Zitka, Master Jason. Albeit with less apples and more bacon."

"Glad to know you don't intend to provide only apples for me, Alfred, thank you." Jason declared, grinning charmingly as Alfred placed another plate of bacon and toast in front of Jason. Tim rolled his eyes. Absolutely unimpressed and partially wondering if Jason had been a common human, he would be as obnoxious. Unfortunately, Jason took that exact time to look at Tim and caught his eye-roll. "Hey, if you rich boy didn't get the lesson on how to be courteous, I can teach you some." he quipped.

"Oh, I did get that lesson, alright. I just skipped on the part where you blatantly kissed someone's feet to get more bacon." Tim retorted.

"Bacon is food of the gods, Timothy. If feet-kissing is all that is needed to get them, that I shall do." Jason replied haughtily. "Some had sold their souls for it."

"You've just made that one up," Tim cautiously remarked. Jason's deadpan face was not helping in deciding whether his remark had been a flat-out lie or truth. The only relief was Alfred, slightly smirking behind him.

Or maybe not. Alfred was, after all, an ancient being, too.

Tim wondered if it was a bad idea to bring two ancient, humanoid beings, under one roof.

* * *

The week passed with not much of a... drama, per sé. Sure, there were some strange creatures that appeared somewhere Downtown, suddenly deciding that they wanted to reside in Gotham and  _just have_  to create some ruckus to attract attention for themselves. Bruce and whatever squad he ran promptly vanquished such intentions and send those creatures back to where they had emanated from.

Some they had actually sent to Arkham Asylum, a containment place for the possessed. Supposedly, Arkham knew ways to un-possess them, exorcise the demons or whatever.

Operative word being 'whatever', because Tim knew that there were many who had left Arkham and still bearing the evilness they had possessed when they were thrown in.

Like Victor Szazs.

Szazs, once upon a time an heir of a major business - kind of like Tim - had lost his family business and fortune due to his own arrogance and gambling. Afterward, something snapped in him and he had started murdering people, claiming that each of the cut he'd made on his body to represent each kill would make him live longer.

"Uh, no." Jason actually cringed as he came up behind Tim and read Szazs' statement. Bruce had sent the case file to Tim, to see if he could figure out Szazs' possible next victim. "Demons would never make such a promise. If he said one had, he's lying or being lied-to."

Tim sighed. "Imagine how convenient our lives would be if ancients like you or Alfred or Zitka or other familiars are legally allowed to testify in court..." he groused.

Jason chuckled. "Yeeeah, some of us aren't quite so benevolent, either. We could lie and have no consequences of our lies. We don't subscribe to your deities, you know." he remarked. "shit, some of us were even your deities at some point in time."

Tim turned and glared at Jason contemplatively. "Would a familiar actually lead the magi to... like, do evil things?"

"No, at least not if they'd come to where I came from, right? More likely it's the magi who'd make his familiar do evil. The worst we could do is evil by silence." Jason replied. He thought for a moment, and then added, "or omission."

"Mmhmmm..." Tim hummed. "I understand omission. Your job is to protect me, after all." Jason placed his hand flat on Tim's head. "Right?" Tim pressed.

"Absolutely."

"I'd rather you don't omit any information for me, though, even if it could hurt me. I need all information before I can figure out what steps to take to handle something." Tim prompted.

"Sure," Jason replied. "it's not like you'll not jump from a ledge if I say it could kill you if you wanted to save somebody below, is it?"

"Absolutely," Tim echoed, grinning. "But I'll know how to make myself not dead if you could tell me things like, how far the distance is below, between ledges, how long of a rope I'd need... you know, things like that."

Jason sighed. "I'm a familiar, Tim, not an engineer." he said. "What I  _can_ and  _will_  do if you _ever_ leap off a ledge is catch you and  _fly_  you out of there to safety. I  _cannot_ , however, go in advance and let you know of the dangers up ahead or stuff like that."

"Okay, that sounds good to me." Tim mused.

"I'd rather you don't put yourself in such a predicament, though, but I reckon I'll sound like a hypocrite." Jason added.

Tim looked at him curiously. "So allying myself with Bruce and Dick and Barbara and whatever crew they might have _is_ and _will be_ bringing danger to me. Why did you do it, anyway?" he asked.

"Okay, three reasons: First and foremost, you're untrained. It'll be more dangerous if you roam around on your own. They can train you, at least physically." Jason pointed out. "Magickally, that'll be my part. But stealth isn't exactly my forté, as you can probably tell..." Tim rolled his eyes, flashing back to the time when Jason first appeared. Other familiars would have slipped in quietly - a cat, a bird, anything. Even Zitka could slip in quietly and stealthily, probably, in spite of being an elephant. Jason just slammed into Tim's bedroom in all of his smokey glory.

"The next one: they are a formidable set of allies. Your goals align with theirs, which is to prevent the misuse of magick by... well, people like him--" Jason tapped on the laptop screen on Szazs' face. "and maybe one day have the natural creatures-- the ones called 'supernatural' by them layfolks, return and restore balance in the universe once again."

Jason was quiet for a good long while, that Tim had to turn again and looked at him. "What's the third?"

His eyes were a little blank, as if he was thinking of something else and was miles away from the question. So Tim snapped his fingers in front of Jason's face, only to have the latter caught his hand. "Don't. I heard you. The third is that they-- Bruce Wayne, that is; has a book that I haven't found yet. In it, there are many knowledge that even the All Caste didn't have in writing. They only have snippets of the knowledge that's generally useless, and if I can complete the snippets, it'll bring a massive change to the balance of power in the universe."

"And that should benefit me, how?" Tim wanted to know.

Jason glared back at him, seemed ambivalent at first, but then answered, "it'll give you all you ever wanted, Tim. Anything and everything. Even the dead."

It took nearly a whole minute before Tim spoke again, after battling and sorting the thousands of questions in his head. "Explain."

Jason shifted uneasily, turning to face Tim. "Remember the Pinocchio story, the tale about him being carved from enchanted wood? Not the sugared-up children's tale about him being 'blessed' by a fairy and come to life?"

"Yes, I have original fairy tales at home." Tim replied a little snarkily, because he did. His parents never thought of the children's version of fairy tales and instead would always give him the spooky, banal ones. "You would know of the nightmares I've had..." he added.

"Yeah, well, it's my duty to let you know that some of them are more like the kids' tales than the spooky ones. But anyway! Pinocchio. He was actually literally enchanted; fictional adventure notwithstanding. Now, said spell had been used to bring to life a lot of things--"

"Oh my god... Pinocchio was an  _effigy_!" Tim suddenly caught on.

"Yeah, that. But effigies were not the only ones brought to life. Still, the spell was lost and my... 'school', so to speak, has been investigating the whereabout of the book since time immemorial; and concluded that it was lost in the hand of an unnamed warlock." Jason continued.

"Given that there are barely a handful of warlocks nowadays, and Bruce came from a long line of warlocks, you assumed it would've been in his ancestor's possession." Tim concluded.

"Exactly. Now, in the hands of a warlock - even someone like Bruce Wayne, the book is useless. But that would not prevent it from being acquired by a magickal person. Now..." Jason exhaled slowly. "...I can't postulate. But from what have been happening in the past... since I got to you, I have fears that the book could be in the wrong hands."

"Hence your insistence to find it. Did you ask Alfred?"

"Daimons didn't have the same views as familiars, Tim, Alfred could probably tell me where something is if I know what it looks like. Like, I could probably ask him for first editions Arthur Conan Doyle books, and he'll be able to point it to me. But this... book - I only call it book based on the ancient All Caste description of 'tome'. It could be in pieces, it could be a carved rock or pots or vases or papyrus..." Jason elaborated. "Alfred wouldn't care nor have curiosity of the contents of it, even if he could read it and/or are interested in modern age's literature..."

Tim sighed dejectedly. "Okay, I'll pinpoint this guy Szazs' next victim - I think I'm beginning to see a pattern here. Barbara can cross-check it later. And then I'll help you in finding this book or what? --just so we can go home afterward."

"I can't tell you what it looks like, alright? A second pair of eyes is handy, but I still can't tell your or show you what it looks like. It's just... if you see it, you'll know it."

"Thanks for the vagueness. Good thing my brain is pattern-based. See? Now I think I've got like, three possible next victim and hopefully Bruce can mobilize some protection before... whatever insanity Szasz is trying to do can actually--" Tim grumbled as he clicked the 'send' button. His report and analysis will be sent to Barbara, who would be assigning whoever she deemed necessary to protect the three-to-five probable victims. "Okay, let's--" Tim abruptly stood up, groaning as his muscles protested at the sudden movement. He stretched his entire body gently, getting a good yawn for good measure, and looked at Jason. "Let's?"

Jason hesitated for a long time before he nodded. "Alright. Let's go roam this obnoxiously massive mansion. Maybe we'll be able to go home before dark."

* * *

As daylight started to fade, Tim - and Jason - had to admit that looking for a 'tome' that defies description; may not look like an actual book; and  _likely_ hidden by magick; in a mansion that is as big as several city blocks; was "an exercise in insanity," - according to Dick - who had returned at three p.m. from his errands - even after Alfred, Dick, and Zitka lent their literal and metaphorical hands.

"Exercise in insanity, indeed. But there is a benefit: I now know which parts of the house that are in dire needs of deep cleansing." Alfred commented mournfully, after observing the cobwebs on Tim's head. "Do  _not_  shake your head, Master Tim. Allow me." he added, and then a small dustpan and brush appeared out of nowhere as he brushed the cobweb off Tim's head.

Tim barely managed _just_  not to shudder. "I think we'll need a shower..." he lamented.

"Bathrooms at the ready in your respective bedrooms, young sirs. And Master Dick,  _kindly_  utilize the showers and  _not_  the bathtubs. Otherwise you shall clean it yourself." Alfred remarked, glaring at Dick who was a little worse for wear than Tim - thanks to his insistence on looking at literal nooks and crannies  _above_  their heads, on the ceilings and thereabout.

DIck grinned unrepentantly at Alfred, and then glared daggers at Jason - who remained pristine. "There are times in life I wish I was a familiar... or has the ability to be dust-proof."

Jason snickered back at him. "There are times I wish I were something else, but in this right here time, I'm just happy at being dust-free."

"You two still thinking of going home?" Dick asked.

"Yeah, I gotta. I have early classes tomorrow." Tim replied.

Dick nodded. "Okay... I'll go with you. We'll get to town before Bruce gets back so I can hitch a ride with him."

"Dude, no need. It's not  _that_  dark, yet..." Tim protested. But Dick just gave him a blank glare.

"...and the city isn't exactly like, a few dozen miles away. Anyway! I have to get myself some stuff, anyway. Just... pretend you're giving me a lift if your pride is not happy." Dick replied.

"Okay, fine..." Tim sighed. "But you're not driving my car."

Dick gave him a mock gasp. "Oh nooo... what would I do now that I'm not allowed to drive you millennial's hybrid car!" he mourned. Tim grinned. Dick's car was a sportscar that cost about four times Tim's. Probably as much in fuel, as well.

"I'm sure you'll find some ways to keep yourself entertained..." Tim retorted. "So, fifteen minutes?"

"Good for me." Dick nodded, getting up to get to his own showers. "Might want to make a note on what you'll need from downtown, Alfred!"

It took nearly all the way back to town, where the city lights started to illuminate the horizon, that Tim realized that the atmosphere has indeed changed. The roads were not dark, yet there seemed to be spots where the darkness were... less diluted.

"Yeah, most of those spirits are just hangin' out, but some are... not." Dick explained. "The main reason why we prefer to go in pairs of humans. No offense to familiars. Just..."

"I get it. They... I can't protect you if you concede to their ways. And those aren't the kind who'd use physical violence, per sé." Jason huffed. "Like, if you see a baby deer in the middle of the road, not moving. What are you going to do?-- kind of thing."

"Good people would stop." Tim stated.

"Good people traveling alone will then be  _theirs_. Especially if they're magis." Dick intoned.

"Oh," Tim exhaled. "How come I've never seen them before?"

"You didn't have a familiar before. They're aiming for those who already have a familiar." Dick paused. "I have no clue what they'd do to the familiar, if the magi is... like, converted or something. But you know, just to be on the safe side, let's not try to find out, yeah?"

"Right," Tim mumbled a reply while trying to ignore the questions in his mind. He decided right there and then that he wanted to know, just so he could figure out how to  _not_  fall prey to whatever lurked on the road from Wayne Manor to Gotham. From the passenger's side, Jason sighed heavily.

"I'll look for why, who, what, or how. Right now, I think we better concentrate on Gothamites' legendary road rage, so we can get home in one piece."


	10. Chapter 10

Mythical beasts are supposed to stay in the mythical realms, according to Jason. Especially since they're really  _not_  supposed to exist. Like, it looked like someone pulled out a JK Rowling book and conjure the most obscure and ridiculously named creature there was.

"I'm not sure if I have to be more concerned that you actually  _knew_  the name and specifications of that creature, or that the..." Jason paused his grumble to actually roll his eyes, "-- _Snallygaster_ actually exists and is flying in front of me right now."

"I'm..." Conner visibly gulped. "I know the answer of your question number one, but number two is... yeah. I'm absolutely concerned. It's solid."

"No shit, Sherlock." Jason snapped. "And it went through Rachel's soul-self as if it was simply a fog and dragging Cassie behind it. Shouldn't you be there and help your girl out? Like, maybe to make that thing hold still?"

Conner looked somewhere between mildly offended and mildly... scared. And if Tim wasn't feeling the latter, he would have snickered.

As it was his first return to San Francisco for the guys' weekly hangout was rudely interrupted when they saw a massive snallygaster flying over the city.

"This is not what you meant by 'wishes came true', is it, Jason?" he had to check.

"Oh, goddess! No! You can't wish for a made-up beast to come to life - let alone one as big as that. This is more of a rabbit-out-of-a-cat kind of magick. Only the rabbit has wings and the hat was probably... large." Jason replied. "Hold on..." with the last warning, he finally heeded to Tim's mental request to go and check what the creature was made of so that Tim could rearrange its molecules.

"I should help Cassie," Conner mumbled and flew to where Cassie was digging her heels - quite literally, to stop said creature from causing any more damage to the city blocks in front of it. Bart was busy removing people from its path, literally and physically. Rachel was busy removing people's memory of  _them_ , not the beast, per sé. Because it would be easier for her to visualize the five of them and pluck said images out of people's brain than a creature that was sure to make the evening news.  _State_  news.

"Okay," Jason was back by Tim's side. He, fortunately, could make himself invisible to non-magickal people and magickal people alike if he wanted to. "that creature was non-organic. He's made of fiberglass."

Tim cocked an eyebrow at him. "Seriously."

"Yep, would you like to taste a feather?" Jason replied, offering a single, arm-length feather to Tim. Without even touching it, Tim realized that it  _was_ , after all, fiberglass. He sighed.

"Bart, I need you back here. Cassie, Conner, can you make that thing stop for one second, please? Two at most." Tim called through their communicator link. "I need Bart to make a controlled tornado to amplify my spell."

"Strength." Jason corrected.

"Bzzz, same difference!" Bart exclaimed, already standing by Tim. "Whirlwind it is, you want it to expand just as it hit him, yes?"

"Working on it, and I'm starting to get pissed at it..." Cassie growled. "Kon, make it like that old Star Wars movie and wrap it low!" she ordered. Conner took her lasso, wrap it around the creature's legs, and gave her a thumb's-up sign. Cassie roared, and her eagle familiar screeched to form a bolt of electricity that Tim was sure could fell a few elephants and five rhinos. Still, considering the creature was the size of a six-storey building, it was... only shocked.

But the shock rendered it standing still for just enough time for Tim to channel his magick through the wind tunnel, small tornado that would amplify said magick by laws of physics.

"I hope Cassie's armor is not fiberglass..." Jason quipped, just as the yellow beam of Tim's magick started to envelop the creature. "What are you turning it to?"

"Dust. What else that's not dangerous to the surrounding area?" Tim snapped his reply. "And Cassie's armor was given by the Greek Gods. I don't think they do fiberglass..." he added as an afterthought, as Bart vacuumed the dust and deposited it into Rachel's soul-self, where it would then be teleported to hell or something; just in case it would morph back to the creature and/or endanger anyone who inhaled it.

"Cassie's armor, thankfully, forged through heart of a dying sun and was made from the hide of the Nemean Lion by Hephaestus. So no, magick can't alter it." Cassie replied as she landed by Tim's side. "Good thing it's a hot day. People would think they're heatstroke-ing."

"Yeah," Tim sighed as Conner and Rachel also landed on the same roof he was standing on. "This... yeah, we need to hold a serious meeting, guys - of what Bruce Wayne had offered me."

"Okay," Cassie started, but Bart cut her off before she could say whatever was on her mind.

"This serious meeting will still be held over pizza, yeah?"

"Bart!" Cassie snapped. But Tim hold up his hand.

"Yeah, yeah... Kon, card." Tim reminded. Conner handed the credit card to Bart, who squealed and zipped off even before anyone could say anything.

"Thank goddess I wasn't assigned to that kid... I'd be very,  _very_  tired..." Jason quipped.

"I get tired just looking at him go, and I can actually reach his speed..." Conner remarked. "Anyway! This is about the Bruce Wayne meeting last... what was it? Tuesday? Wednesday?"

"Thursday, actually, Conner. You've known me all these times and still don't remember that I only have Thursday afternoon free from classes..." Tim replied dryly.

"What about Bruce Wayne?" Cassie wanted to know. "Diana is frothing about him and I think she has a crush or something. Which is weird because Wayne is like...  _dense_. Not Diana's type at all."

"Rae, can you get us back to the island, please?" Tim prompted. Rachel just nodded, and a thick black smoke enveloped them all. Tim's mind momentarily wondered and analyzed the difference between Rachel's teleportation smoke and Jason's. Jason's was white, thin, breathable, but singeing the eyes due to its lengthy linger. Rachel's smoke was deep black, thick like fog, cold when breathed in, and dissolved within less than two seconds.

"Don't think of how to replicate this smoke, Timmers, it's hell-related." Jason quipped, tapping his forehead gamely.

"I'm not! I'm..." Tim started, but sighed as the outline of the meeting room - a.k.a. the dining table - in their basecamp started to come to focus. "No, not the smoke. I just wondered if... I can't help wanting to know, you know." he told Jason, and Rachel, who looked at him quizzically.

"You have already decided," Rachel remarked, annoyingly able to read Tim's mind. Well, actually, she literally is able to read minds, only that Tim distinctly remembered that he had specifically asked her not to. As Tim glared back at her as she walked toward the meeting table, she blithely replied, "no, Timothy, I did not read your mind. It was there all over your body language." she paused and turned to look at Tim. "Not everything needed demonic mind-reading abilities."

Tim rolled his eyes. "Okay, fine. I have decided for myself, that is. I'm... I've promised that I'm not going to sell the idea to you guys, but merely presenting it. Because I want you guys to decide on your own." he said. "Bart? You good?"

Bart, still on his commlink and probably about halfway to Nevada, commented. "Yup, I'm going to this amazing pizza place in Vegas and... yeah, you keep talking."

"There's a good pizza place in Vegas?" Jason mouthed, and Conner snickered.

"Okay, while we wait for Bart, why don't you start from the top, Tim. I got the feeling that this has something to do with you," Cassie decided, glaring at Jason.

"Hey!" Jason protested. "Well, kind of. But not entirely. It has more to do with Tim."

Tim sat down at the head of the table, inhaled deeply, and began. "Okay, yes. It did have something to do with Jason. But his part was just the push I needed to do something. It - whatever 'it' is - was started with my mom, apparently.

"As you all knew, my mom died while protecting my dad from this... insane voudou man called Obeah Man. But after my visit to Bruce Wayne's place a few days ago, I found out that my mom was not 'just' - quote-unquote - a hero for saving my dad. She was a hero long before that...

"Her job back then was to collect artifacts that are real and dangerous, and switch the ones in museums with fake ones--"

"--woah... a Real-life Lara Croft!" Bart quipped. The whole team, even Jason, groaned.

"Yeeeah, kind of. Only she's not only getting them for personal collection and stuff. Definitely not  _my_  family's personal collection. Instead she would send them to the Justice League via Bruce Wayne; where they would then defuse or destroy the dangerous ones. Wayne's job is to generally investigate those who had used or had been known to have owned or used, or has been looking for a specific artifact. He's assisted by the Oracle--" Tim stopped again as there were sudden screeching and slamming sounds coming through the comm-links. "Bart? You okay?"

"Pizza's fine, guys! So am I. I just lost concentration for a bit and almost cause a pileup!" Bart giggled. There was another collective groan. "Hey! The Oracle! I mean, isn't anyone else stoked at that? The All-Seeing Oracle!" he added excitedly. "Did you get to meet them? Can we go meet Oracle?"

Tim sighed, tried to pick up where he'd left off when something else struck him. "Okay, anyway-- wait, why are you so excited about Oracle? You know something I don't?"

"Just the legends!" Bart replied. "That they had singlehandedly dismantled the King Kobra cult without even being seen, and the King Kobra staff is in their hands even before the cult's priests knew it was missing. That the priests swore up and down that it was as potent as before the last time they'd used it, and it was like, a few days before it went missing and there have been no break-ins and whatnot." he ended the sentence as he appeared right in front of them with two large bags of pizza boxes. "Your card," he handed the card to Tim.

"Okay, wow... I mean, I didn't know about King Kobra or whatever that is..." Tim remarked as a massive slice of pizza was placed right in front of him. "Thanks, Jason. I usually would just wait until they get one before getting myself one."

Jason snorted. "From the pace of it, you'd be lucky if you can still snag the mozzarella remnants from the lid." he quipped.

"Hey! Some of us need a lot of  _calories_ , alright?" Bart protested semi-lazily as he practically inhaled his third slice.

"Okay, pizza's here. We've eaten. Tim, continue, please?" Cassie prompted.

"Right. Long story short, Bruce told me that he has had us monitored for a while, and knew that we've been trying to defend the city in our way. He offered to train us, especially in the physical aspects of what we do, so that we can be more effective and maybe would cause less property damage.

"The thing is, this came with Jason's warning that the future would be a lot more dangerous for us, the young ones in particular; and more specifically kids like us who are yet to either manifest their magick, or have manifested but did not have a place to train like we do. His argument is that if we can get like, professionally trained; we can be the fodder between the untrained new magis and the older ones and stuff like that. And if we end up facing something we can't handle on our own, we can call them for assistance." Tim finished the last two sentences in quite a record time that, if they weren't used to Bart's speedy speech-pattern, they might not catch on.

But they did.

"So they want us to be the JL's sidekick." Conner concluded.

"Partners," Tim clarified. Conner scoffed.

"Right. Since when would adults see us as equals?" he retorted. "Anyway, why would we need them? Aside of the possible emergency contact and whatnot? We're good on our own."

"I can't disagree with Conner. I mean, I love Diana and Donna with all my heart, but when it comes to mystics, they could be a hella hypocritical." Cassie agreed. "If I hadn't promised I'd keep everybody in check and focused on keeping the lot of us  _invisible_ , they'd have barged in here and like, drag me outta here kicking and screaming, probably."

Tim gritted his teeth quietly. Cassie had a point; in spite of her half-sisters being in teams of their own, they tend to be overbearing when it comes to what they perceived as Cassie's 'safety'. Never mind that she was almost as invulnerable as they are, or almost as strong and controlled. Or that she actually has a mother who could educate her on  _life_  in general.

"Rachel? Bart?" He tested.

Bart shrugged, "hey, I'm happy as long as I'm with you guys. So whatever the majority goes, I'm going." he replied. At 13, Bart was still significantly younger than they are, and could end up as a liability if he wasn't being fostered by another speedster, Max Mercury, who has a daughter who was older than they all.

"Rachel?" Tim asked.

"I see that Bruce Wayne is not the daft playboy persona he showed off in public. His mind has so many facets and turns that even I couldn't see - likely blocked off by his daimon. But even with my vote, we would be in a stalemate, Tim." Rachel replied in her soft voice. "How about we mull this through the week, and by next weekend, you can present some compelling argument or evidence why we should join them."

"Alright," Tim sighed and started to take a bite of his slice -  _two_  slices now, because Jason apparently got impatient and was kind of concerned at the speed of Bart finishing the pizzas.

"Alright, now we go do fun stuff!" Conner decided.

Jason was quiet, and it took way longer for Tim than necessary to realize that the quiet should have been seen as ominous.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pffhh... adulting happened. 'S'all.

Conner was killed two weeks later.

They didn't get to have another meeting by the next week. Tim's dad had demanded that he should come and visit him in Central City. The visit itself was... angering Tim so much. Dad wanted him to move his college transcripts to Central City University. If it was not for his new wife, Dana, who explained that CCU didn't have the studies Tim was taking for his Microbiology degree, he might have had a hard time to tell his dad 'no'. Even with Jason by his side.

The only good thing that came out of the two-day visit was that Dana, dad's new wife, was impressed at Jason and right away demanded that Jason "take care of Tim." She might have thought that Jason was Tim's boyfriend, and neither of them corrected her. Even Tim was slowly realizing that Jason's demeanor toward him - as was his toward Jason - could definitely be seen as a closer relationship than 'buddy'-hood; or housemates.

With the success of determining Szazs' next victim, and consequently preventing a murder from being committed and presenting enough evidence for Bruce's team and the GCPD in arresting Victor Szazs; Tim was given another task by Bruce on Monday. The task was to find evidence that Lex Luthor has created another life effigy. One that is less Clark and more... something else; using the same materials and methods that had created Conner.

On Tuesday, Tim had found the evidence and told Bruce; and then he'd told Conner over a video call. Conner had laughed and told him that it would be funny if he'd have to fight his own face.

Tim was glad he had the video call recorded out of habit. 

On Wednesday, Tim found himself running through a pile of debris, courtesy of the fight between Conner and his clone in Metropolis City. Toward Cassie, who was kneeling and cradling Conner in her arms; Bart, barely clinging to life after dragging the clone through the speedforce realm with his cousin, Wally West; Rachel trying to hold Bart's life together; and Conner. Lifeless, bloodied, beaten, and broken.

Tim never wailed. Tears might have streamed freely from his eyes as he slumped right next to Cassie, watching the lifeless body of one of his best friends. Cassie sobbed openly, and Bart and Rachel managed to reach over and held Cassie's shoulder.

But the battle raged on, and there were others who were fighting for their lives around him. The clone that Luthor had made might have been the strongest there was. It had incapacitated Clark, who was secretly flown out to the Wayne Manor. Diana, Donna, Bruce, Dick, and many others were still trying to... well, not get dead, mostly.

He slowly stood up and looked at Wally. "I'm not gonna ask Bart just yet. Wally, can you make an amplifying tornado?" he asked.

"What are you gonna do?" Wally asked back, a little trepidation in his voice. Apparently Wally might have heard some things that Bart had done with said 'amplifying tornado', because he added, "You can't..."

"Just do it, please. Now. Bruce, if you can hear me. Tell every Kryptonian to get out of the range. Make them go to the moon, if necessary." Tim gritted, hoping that his commlinks still worked. "Jason." he called, knowing that he didn't even have to speak his command to Jason.

Jason exhaled slowly. "Wally, just do as he said..." Jason said quietly. "We need this to stop at all cost, before it cost us all."

He could see Wally gulped, but he nodded. "Just tell me when." he said, raising his hand to make the small, targeted tornadoes that would amplify whatever spell Tim would make.

And this one would target Conner's Kryptonian blood that's heavily smeared on Tim's hands. Clark Kent's DNA.

A red-and-blue blur landed behind him. "Hold on a second," a voice said. "I'm getting us out of here. I'm sorry, Cassie..." Kara, Clark's cousin - technically Conner's, too - said, as she wrapped her cape around Conner's body and flew away.

"Cassie," Tim started. Cassie's eyes were red and hard, tears still streaming down from them.

"Do it, Tim. Destroy them." she commanded.

Tim nodded. He could feel the anger building up within him, added with Jason's boost, and building, and building; he barely managed to tell Wally "now," before a burst of energy zapped out of his palm into Wally's tornadoes. His anger twisted every bit of the copies of Conner's DNA out of the clones and they screamed. He could hear them scream in pain and would have prolonged the screams, if only to let them know of the pain Conner had; make Conner's DNA pushed themselves out of the clones through every vein and orifice - if Jason hadn't pushed and boosted his energy more.

They blew up right where they stood, scattered all over their surrounding area and opponents. The world felt quiet for a good second, and Tim didn't even realize that Wally had stopped the tornadoes while his own energy still spritzing out of his fingers. He snapped out of his reverie only when a hand landed on his wrist and Bruce's voice said, "it's enough, Tim..." softly.

He blinked owlishly. He'd thought of targeting the other set of DNA that would have destroyed Lex Luthor as well; and it was only a split-second decision - and the realization that there could also be another human being or some innocent relatives of Lex's who could be destroyed along - that made him decide on Conner's less-common Kryptonian DNA, instead.

"I didn't kill any humans." Tim said, almost defensively.

"No, you didn't." Bruce acknowledged. "Rachel, please help with the clouding; Wally, take Bart out of here; Cassie, if you're up for it, please help Donna and Diana with the cleanup and checkup, see if there is any bystanders were harmed." he commanded, gently, but authoritatively. Everyone around them promptly left, leaving Tim standing there just with Bruce and Jason. "Jason, can you carry us both back home?"

"Approximate home, only, man. Your house is more protected than the Presidential Palace, remember?" Jason replied, one of his arms already wrapped around Tim's shoulder, practically supporting him.

"Front yard would be just divine, lad," Bruce replied.

By the time Tim managed to croak, "Conner..." Jason had already teleported them into the Wayne Manor's front gate. Alfred stood there, right next to a golf cart, as he opened a small door on the massive gate.

"...Conner is being... cared for by Kara, Tim." Bruce said, obviously choosing his words carefully. "I'm... sorry."

"I should've done the spell sooner." Tim concluded. "I'm sorry... I didn't think of it before."

"You do the spell sooner, you'd have decimated Conner as well." Jason reminded.

Tim blinked. "I could have just..." he started, and then drew a blank. There was no other option. To destroy the clones, he'd needed Conner's blood. Conner's DNA. To get Conner's DNA, Conner would have to bleed. And died.

He sobbed, ignoring the fact that they have reached the Manor's front door; or that Clark was limping out of the door with questions in his eyes. Tim just sobbed and wept, leaning heavily on Jason. He didn't care that Jason had lifted him out of the cart and carried him into the Manor like a baby. He didn't care for Clark's questions, or that Bruce had pulled Clark to the side to make way for Jason. He just closed his eyes and wept.

* * *

By the afternoon, it was clear that the clones have made a lot more damage than anyone could ever see. Dick reported that two of his teammates were killed, too, Lilith Clay and Don Hall - both were much,  _much_  more powerful in their magick than Conner. Lilith was a pure homo-magi and telepath; Don Hall was a mortal granted the powers of Terataya, a cosmic God of Order.

Hank Hall, Don's brother and the opposite of Don as he was granted powers by T'Charr, god of Chaos; was on screen, demanding why the clones were destroyed because he'd wanted to singlehandedly destroy them all. It was anger speaking, Tim could tell, because Hank was looking worse for wear himself - both hands shattered, leg was nearly cut right off, a lot of ribs broken. Plus he wasn't exactly invulnerable, and Conner was.

 _Or so they all believed._ ; Tim thought bitterly. But hey, then again, even  _Clark_  was looking worse for wear. Tim has gotten away with a few bruises, because Jason had taken the brunt of the magickal attacks. Jason looked peachy, but Tim could tell that his energy was pretty much bruised and battered. He knew, he could feel it. Alfred was busy tending to the lot of people under this roof; and on the other side of the country, at the JL's headquarter - where Hank showed through the videocall he was making to Bruce - there were people tending to each other. Tim could see Zatanna Zatara, the most powerful magi of all time, hunched over a stove; definitely creating massive amount of concoction to heal people.

He looked around, found Cassie and Rachel, Bart, and Wally at one end of the living room. Wally was moving around, helping Alfred. Cassie was glaring angrily at a wall a few feet off the big videocall screen, and Rachel tried to just be there for her, not moving, but not holding her, either. Bart was surprisingly still, and quiet.

Before he could finish the thought of whether or not he should approach them, Bart zipped up to his side and hugged him tight. It took Tim a few heartbeats to realize that Bart was crying, and for him to hug back.

So he did. Cassie eventually got to them and wrapped her arms around the two of them. Rachel approached them timidly, and Tim waved her in. "Just let us cry a while, Rach..." he warned, because Rachel has the ability to 'cleanse' emotions - not just physical pains - and he didn't want that. Not yet. Not now.

Right now, Tim knew that they all needed a good, long cry. For Conner.


	12. Chapter 12

The next few weeks were a blur of... a lot of things. The gang eventually decided to stay in Gotham, at Oliver Queen's compound on the West side of the City and across the Wayne Manor. It was decided out of convenience - as they discovered that there were more teen-aged people like them during the Clone Battles.

No, it wasn't Tim who called it that. He saw the irony, alright. But it was someone else who called it that. Annoyingly, the name stuck.

Like a bad continuance of a Star Wars plot, Lex Luthor was - surprisingly and unsurprisingly - still free. He had confessed to making the clones, but he had also stated that he'd gotten hurt when he'd tried to stop them and they were going rogue and developed their own sentience.

"I could've told him that..." Jason quipped when he heard Luthor's excuse. "Effigies are only compliant when they are tied to  _one_  other person's soul. If they are tied to two... there will be chaos within themselves and you can't really tell which end they would pursue."

"I think they're doing fairly good impersonating Luthor and what he would have been like if he has actual powers within..." Dick deadpanned through the a video call. His own team has returned to New York, where they were based. But he did not hesitate to call back when asked to.

"But this is a part that you've warned us, isn't it, Jason? Tim?" Barbara -  _Oracle_  - asked through another videocall screen.

"Partly, yes. Luthor has discovered what he thought of as the key of bringing effigies to life. The fiberglass snallygaster was one of it, and he probably didn't expect that we could stop it easily." Tim replied.  _Because we had Conner on our side, and he and Cassie together were strong enough to stop a nearly unbreakable monster_ , he added to himself, a little bitterly.

He was snapped out of the bitterness and nearly jumped when Rachel's hand, perpetually cold and soft hand, landed on his. He offered her a weak smile, and she nodded in understanding. Tim was still grieving, but so was she; and Cassie and Bart. And the others; Bruce, Dick, Clark, Wally, Diana, and so on; were, too, grieving for their lost comrades.

In total, the clones took about a dozen magi lives, and a few dozen innocent bystanders, as well as hundreds of wounded civilians. Tim only knew of not even half of them. He knew later that Don was Hank Hall's younger brother. His grief would have surpassed Tim's - understandably so. Tim never had a sibling, and he reckoned that he would not have known the pain of losing one. But if he could barely control his emotions at losing one of his best friends, he would be the last person to judge the endless tears streaming down on Hank's face.

Lilith Clay, he knew, was to Dick as Rachel was to them. 'The' OG - one of the founding members of Dick's Titans team. And Dick's face was long from the happy-go-lucky, ready-to-smile person Tim had met three-- or was it four? - weeks ago. His blue eyes seemed even more blue when surrounded by the redness of the sclera.

Bruce had not cried, Tim noticed. But that did not mean he was not busy, collecting evidences against Luthor for crimes against the magi and mortals. He would have preferred that Luthor be charged in the Court of Magis, Tim knew. But Luthor, who probably knew that a trial in the Court of Magis would end with him being banished to the Nether, beat Bruce by admitting on TV that it was his doing. He was duly arrested by the FBI, not surprisingly. The Magi world's enforcement had barely managed to sweep through Luthor's lab to hide and/or destroy and/or replace any artifacts Luthor had used.

"I'm sure that the things we've seen are not all Luthor had used to make his clones." Bruce remarked darkly.

"No, they're not." Arthur Curry, the King of Atlantis, agreed. "He would have had a piece of this--" he pointed to the missing piece from the trident he was holding. "Neptune's trident. It was broken long ago, said to have been embedded inside a leviathan that was later caught by humans. The records here did not specify whether it was caught by mortals or magis, though."

"Jason?" Bruce asked.

Jason shrugged. "Same difference. Our books mentioned the capture of Leviathan - or the Tarasque - the more specific one. It said that Tarasque was caught - or lured - by a Saint, some time in the year eight hundred AD in Provence, France. "When it reached the village, it was killed by the village's folks. The piece of the Trident supposedly went missing since then." he replied. "I would say that might be safe to presume that it was caught by a magi, but considering that it was literally the golden age of Christianity, the saint in question might not want to announce the magick." he added.

"That is more detailed than the Atlantis' records." Curry remarked. "I do agree on the presumption of said Saint being a magi, though."

"The Acres of All has notes from under and the surface of the Ocean, King of Atlantis." Jason reminded. "Your records stop at the happenings under the surface."

"Makes sense. I presume - a long shot, but it's the most likely hypothesis as of now. The Saint person must have acquired the relic, and hide it - most likely in a monastery. Somehow, it traveled through the year thousand AD to the present, and reached the US. It might have been placed in a lead box, somewhere, in the hopes that Clark's X-Ray vision would not be able to see it." Bruce concluded. "Next item? Zatanna?"

"There should be a Chaos Shard in there, I would presume." Zatanna replied. Zatanna was a show-person, making her living as a 'magician' - the rabbit-out-of-hat kind. But unlike Tim's earlier foe, the faux-magi who called himself Anarky; Zatanna came from a long-line of pureblooded Homo Magi. Her father before her was the most powerful Magi ever noted, and said was only defeated by his own legend.

Even Jason had nodded in respect when he came across her a little while ago.

This time, however, Jason did not hesitate to correct her. "There can't be a Chaos Shard. Chaos Shard isn't the thing to use to make something come to life. It's used to reanimate something that's used to be alive." he explained. "...or return to life, depending on the intention."

"The intent could be Luthor's. I'm quite sure the shard is there." Zatanna insisted. "I can show you its energy signature once the cops - the mortal cops - are done with it. It was shown clearly even through the video footage from our Scene Investigators."

"Alright, we'll note and shelve the confirmation of the Shard for later. Next artifact? Zatanna noted that there were at least five missing items there." Bruce interjected, stopping the argument. By the end of the meeting, an hour later, Tim felt his head buzzing with exhaustion.

"Let's go eat," Bart demanded. "That was exhausting. Do all adults meeting go like that?"

Jason, the recipient of Bart's glare, shrugged defiantly. "How am I supposed to know? I'm technically only a level one adult! I'm not even a  _human_  adult." he exclaimed.

Tim almost snickered. It was easy to forget that Jason was not human, especially when he was leaning heavily against Jason on one side, Cassie on the other. "I do agree on the food, though. Come on, guys, let's check if Alfred have some snacks going on since it's not like, lunch time, yet." he settled.

"They don't resolve anything." Cassie grumbled. "I want Luthor's head on a stake. Clark didn't even... --ugh! I know he didn't like Conner much! But he could at least... --ugh!" she repeated.

Tim sighed. Clark's attitude and feelings against Conner were well known - he'd preferred to stay away from Conner, scared that Conner would somehow endanger those he was close with. Yet he'd allowed - or maybe he just couldn't argue when - his foster mother, Martha Kent, decided that Conner should live with her since Clark's foster father, Jonathan, died.

The use of past tense for Conner in his own mind came to a realization, and Tim bit the inside of his cheek, trying to reorganize his thoughts to - at least - pacify Cassie.

But it was Rachel who spoke first.

"People deal with shock and grief in many different ways, Cassandra," she said softly. "Clark is... confused why it hurt so much for him. He has put up walls, he is mirroring Bruce in order not to break down. He could not afford to break down." she elaborated.

Cassie blinked owlishly as she digested the new information. Her shoulders sagged, and it was her turn to lean on Tim instead of the other way around.

"Cassie..." Tim started. "they're adults." he said, as if that would resolve Cassie's anger. "They... they see us, and they're trying to be stoic, you know? They pretended they're not sad and soldier on so that we could get our bearings together, too, and prepare ourselves for the-- the next... whatever." he continued as they entered the kitchen.

Alfred, not surprisingly, has the table filled with a  _lot_  of variety of sandwiches. "Care to indulge, young ladies and gentlemen? There are enough here even for a speedster, I believe."

"Okay," Cassie stopped at the door. "we train with them. But I  _will_  bail the instant they stop me from facing... whatever it is adults think are dangerous for us, but not much different than... than that thing that killed Conner." she stated.

"Okay," Tim agreed. "I-- I'll tell them that  _we_  shall assess the levels of dangers ourselves, and that if it started with us, they'll let us finish the fight. Okay?"

Bart nodded sadly, Rachel merely tilted her head slightly - somewhere between agreeing and not wanting to comment. Cassie nodded firmly. "Conner didn't back away from that thing. Neither should we, from anything else."

"Okay, can we eat now, please? Mr Pennyworth's sandwiches looked... awesome." Bart pointed out, grinning, a little less pep than his usual grin. But at least he was trying to be a little less morose than Cassie. Jason just patted Tim's shoulder and left, probably to peruse the library some more.

"Let's." Tim decided. "Thank you, Alfred. I'm sorry to be such a bother..." he added as he sat down on one of the chairs. There were more chairs and stools in the kitchen than the four he had seen in his earlier visit.

"Nonsense, Master Tim, not a bother at all. The Wayne Manor used to be a meeting place for a good number of people even during my forefathers' days." Alfred replied, gracefully piling up the plate in front of Bart with sandwiches, and then placed some more plates in front of the others with much less sandwiches than the ones he had placed for Bart. Tim mused that Alfred must have had to deal with Barry Allen, Bart's grandfather, who previously held the speedster magick.

They ate quietly for a good long while, and just as they - and Bart - finished and started to place their plates on the sink, Alfred cleared his throat loudly.

"Young ladies and gentlemen, will you be kind enough to indulge an old man a word or two?"

Tim looked at his friends with slight confusion, realizing that he would be the only one who knew how to address a situation like this - where a butler would 'discard' his butler-y mannerism and talk to them as 'equals' - he replied, "of course, Alfred. I'd be honored to hear your opinion."

Alfred nodded respectfully, and said, "I would like to suggest that each of you go home, for a week or two - barring any disaster mitigation. If you still have a parent or both, or siblings; hug them and let them know that you care for them. Let them know that you have just lost a dear friend. Let them help you grieve. If you have neither, then please, do not hesitate to come to me. I am a mere daimon, indeed, yet I have lived as a human being and may be able to empathize with your plight.

"All else failed, you might want to consult with your parents or guardians to allow you to speak with a professional counselor. The JL can advise you in finding professionals whom you can speak with who are aware of our... lifestyles. They will maintain confidentiality, as is demanded of them. You may even enforce confidentiality with a binding spell.

"Please, do not, even for a second, consider yourselves helpless or to blame for what happened." Alfred placed a hand on Tim's shoulder, as if he knew exactly what Tim was thinking. "It is a tragedy, but not of your making. There is nothing to be 'fixed' off from each and every one of you. Yet it will be prudent to allow yourselves to grieve, as grief is the most deviant and heinous foe one will ever find oneself face through life. It will not simply disappear from one's life, and might struck at times least expected - perhaps tomorrow, perhaps a year from today.

"What I am suggesting is that you find insights from others on how to mitigate grief. What you feel, regardless of your age, is not unimportant. Yet you may lack the length of life to behold that there are options to manage or mitigate your feelings and emotions.

"In conclusion, my dear young ones, please indulge this old man and not grieve alone." Alfred concluded with a firm squeeze on Tim's shoulder.

"Thank you, Alfred," Tim finally managed to croak as the other guys nodded solemnly.

"Thank you also for the food, Mr Pennyworth!" Bart added cheerfully, as he finished cleaning the dishes. "Don't worry, my foster folks taught me how to handle good china!" he continued at Alfred's questioning glare.

Alfred let out a soft smile. "Ah, Master Max. Do send my regards to him and let him know how much alike to your grandfather you are." he said fondly.

"I will! Thanks again, Mr Pennyworth! Shall we go now, gang?" Bart prompted.

Cassie and Rachel turned to Tim for a moment. Tim smiled, "I'll stick around for a bit. I'm only an hour away by car, anyway." he said. "You guys let me know when you get home, yeah?"

"Will do," Cassie hugged him again. "We're also here for you, right, Timmers?"

"I know, Cass..." Tim nodded. "Rach," he acknowledged as he hugged Rachel.

"See you later, Tim..." Rachel told him.

"See ya, guys!" Bart zipped out without further ado. Rachel and Cassie thanked Alfred, and respectfully walked outside before Rachel's black smoke teleported them away.

Before Tim could digest the fact that he was alone, and  _definitely_  would not go to his father for comfort or whatever, Jason materialized next to him, wings, smokes and all, and scooped him off his feet into a fireman's carry.

"Come on, Timmers! There's something I want you to see!" he announced gleefully.

Tim just rolled his eyes and then squeezed them shut as he waited for them to arrive at wherever Jason wanted him to go to. He opened his eyes to find them standing in the middle of a massive library.

"Oookay..." he groaned. "This is something we can't google, huh?"

"You heathen. No, it's not. It's about the Lazarus Pit." Jason replied. "And I think I've discovered just how Luthor created his clones, and why Conner was so perfect, unlike the rest."


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what adulting does to an incomplete story? That's right. It darned near killed it. I haven't posted in the past few weeks thanks to adulting and life-based dramu. All I would exchange gladly for a few weeks of quiet to write.
> 
> Anyway. Thank you if you all are still reading this. This, IMO, is a crappy filler. But it'll be clearer - I hope - by the next chapters.

"So how does this Lazarus Pit work?" Bruce wanted to know. Actually, every adult in the room - Clark, Diana, Arthur, Zatanna, and a guy named Hal Jordan who glowed green that Tim has only seen from a distance during the Battle of Metropolis, all converged at the Wayne Manor's meeting room.

"Simply speaking, it activates cells with no exemption. Oracle and I have researched, and we found out that Luthor supposedly had a bit of this Pit's liquid that he'd obtained from an antiquity seller. My conclusion is that he might have tried to analyze the remaining liquid and maybe synthesized it to create the clones." Tim explained.

Right after Jason told him of this thing called Lazarus Pit that supposedly could bring the dead back to life, Tim had told Bruce. Bruce had assigned somebody that Tim didn't know to find it, and they found one right away - just right outside Gotham City. Further exploration showed that there were a number of them in the East Coast alone. At the moment, Bruce has assigned his JL colleagues to find all of them. It was quite fortunate that the Pits were not located out in the open.

"It still won't stop Luthor's curiosity from either finding more of the liquid, or - like Tim said - synthesizing it. There was a lot of vials of unknown substances in the evidence list." Clark replied quietly, and Tim had to grit his teeth. Clark was physically older by at least 10 years than Conner, but sounded similar, anyway. It didn't help that his aura was like Conner, too.

Not that Clark knew anything or could change anything about it. After all, Conner was a slightly diluted version of Clark.

"Right, presuming he has actually synthesized it, rather than finding a source; why did his other attempts not work as well as Conner?" Bruce asked.

"Because Conner has -  _had_  - a soul," Rachel replied quietly from the corner of the room. Tim exhaled a breath he didn't even know he was holding. Rachel's change of tenses felt like a sharp poke to his sternum.

The adults were quiet for a tad too long before Bruce turned toward Rachel and asked directly, "I shall take your words for it and not insist on explanation; but the question remained, how is it that Conner got a soul whilst the others - specifically the humanoid ones who physically looked like him and presumably has his biological structure - did not."

This time, it was Diana who answered, "because a soul is not included in a 'life' package, Bruce. Not all sentient beings have souls. My people's legend said that souls are granted by the gods, otherwise a sentient being or creature can have one that has either not arrived at or escaped from Hades."

"That's... about almost right," Jason chimed in. "I mean, not sure about the escaping part, but yes. Like familiars. Someone who was not born to have one can obtain one through a number of rituals."

"Alright... still doesn't answer my question of how come Luthor's efforts didn't work." Bruce pointed out.

"He didn't have or do the magick." Jason continued. "Luthor may have the best brain for science; but without the magick of the actual Pit..." he looked at Tim.

"People... like you, Bruce, think that magick is unexplained science, which is right in a sense. But to replicate something that originated in magick, there are things..." Tim hesitated. "Like-- I don't know-- if you cook, maybe? One can follow a recipe to the last T but still the bread won't rise or something like that. The 'gift', I think. I mean, I don't know what else to call it. That something in you that is manifested outward as magick." Tim stopped, realizing that everyone's eyes were on him and that he was rambling incoherently.

"I see," Bruce's glare made Tim want to go and hide or something. Everything Tim has just said insinuated that Bruce, the only one among them who did not have magick by birth, was somewhat un-gifted. Bruce, however, didn't even seem to notice the insinuation. "This is one of the reasons why I would rather have your team be present among us, Tim."

"'We', or 'you'?" Tim wanted to know.

Bruce, Clark, and Diana - Tim knew that they are often dubbed as the 'Trinity' due to their ability to complete each other - smiled enigmatically. He still was not sure whether to feel blessed or cursed.

"Bruce brought in the idea of having and allowing young people to be trained in protection, so I thought my skills couls be put to good use." Clark started.

"Since 'protection' may--" Diana paused and smirked, "-- _will_  also include offensive and not just defensive activities, I offered my expertise to train you and your friends."

"So it's  _us_ , not just me." Bruce clarified. "Hal will be coaching on the subject of space magicks, Arthur of ocean magicks, Zatanna on the ancients - to make it more tangible rather than if Jason was the one doing the coaching."

"Because Jason is 'just' a familiar." Tim remarked.

"Because Jason is also a young person, not because he's a familiar." Zatanna replied. In other times, Tim might fanboy a little at her. This time, he felt a slight bitterness in his heart and had to assess whether the bitterness was his or Jason's.

"We would listen more to those our age - even an ancient being who merely  _looks_  our age." Tim pursed his lips stubbornly.

"Yes, I am well aware of that. That is the reason why I would like to request the use of your island as a base." Bruce replied. "Your presence here is valuable, yet is more valuable there with the site belonging to you. Your peers will be more comfortable, as well."

"Largely because your place will not be 'related' - so to speak - to any of us. Their parents or guardians will also be more comfortable, I'd say..." Clark chimed in. "That was Diana's suggestion, by the way," he added belatedly, as if he didn't want Bruce to take the credit.

Tim wondered if Bruce was as manipulative as that; having Diana claimed the idea he'd suggested or insinuated.

"What are the conditions?" he wanted to know, anyway. It's not like he could say no if the adult magis decided to lump all teen-aged magis at his Island. It's not like he  _would_  say no - he knew well how those kids would feel, being a teen that no adults would trust and having a kind of power or another that they could not control.

"I was expecting  _you_  to give us conditions." Bruce admitted. If it wasn't for a  _very_  small uptick of confusion of his eyebrow, Tim's suspicion would probably flared up more and bigger.

"Do I get to send back the..." he paused, wondered just what category an 'unwanted' magi-kid would be in. Unruly? Unfriendly? Disobedient? --all terms could be applied to himself, after all. "...the ones who didn't want to be there?" he settled for a broader term. "I don't want to force anyone to stay if they don't want to. My island is not a playground or a daycare. And I definitely don't want them to feel like they're in a playground or a daycare." he explained, scowling a little.

The adults grinned and/or smirked. The guy called Hal quipped, "yeeeah, whenever more than two magis of any sources come together, it's gonna be a playground and/or daycare, I tell you."

"Hal," Diana warned quietly. "I can't fault Hal's observation, really, as he's gotten more experience with magis in groups. But no, we do not see or plan your place to be a magi daycare. But maybe one day, it will be a center where the young can find their own voice - proverbially speaking - without constant interruptions from the adults, yet while being safe."

"It sounds overly optimistic." Tim pointed out. "But I know what it's like to be... restrained from my nature. So," he shrugged. "it's not like I'd have many points of objections. Just... I may be a kid, but I know some things  _will_  require adult supervision..."

Bruce's smile was kind of all-knowing. "Yes, that's what Dick said, too. He will help you - he and his friends - to mitigate any issues that you might face that would require adult assistance. For the sake of... legal matters, I hope you will allow Dick access to your island. This will be fully at your discretion, and none of us..."

Clark interjected, "...we managed to make Bruce promise not to meddle too much. The point is, Tim, you'll be the metaphorical adult there. I trust you'll be able to manage them all."

Tim blinked and glared at Clark. The man might be the epitome of hope and all that is good in the world - magi or not. But he was more of a stranger to Tim compared to Diana Prince, even. Conner might have been Tim's best friend. But unlike Diana, who has had her times to visibly meddled with Cassie's life - in spite the fact that Cassie still has a mother; Clark has never gotten involved with Conner or anything that he had done. It was Bart's guardian, Max Mercury, who'd brought Conner along with Bart and introduced him to Tim. Max, formerly a foreman in one of Tim dad's archaeological site, noticed that Tim was 'different', and had had no qualm in promptly introducing Tim to Bart, and then Conner, and then Cassie.

Clark, as much as Tim knew that he was a part of Conner by DNA, remained just as 'Clark Kent', and that was it. Conner's life eventually crossed path with Clark's - again, courtesy of Max. Yet Tim could never see him as Conner's guardian of any kind.

To have him commenting that he trusted Tim with a lot of other magi kids was... a lot more unnerving to Tim than if it had been Bruce who said that. Or even Diana.

Bruce's quiet addition, however, steeled Tim's resolve. "I know you can, Tim. You have showed remarkable initiative by forming your group on the first hand."

"Yeah," Tim sighed, tamping down his doubts and fears. "we'll see how it goes in the next few weeks, huh? Let 'em come and hope we don't destroy the island or San Francisco while we're at it."


	14. Chapter 14

Just as thing settled down in the magick front, Tim's 'plain' life started to bit back. The first order of the week was his father. Jack Drake had heard that Tim was in Metropolis during the supernatural and/or alien-based riots, and demanded that Tim should 'go back home' to Central City immediately.

Tim managed to evade the order - and avoided telling Dad that Central City was not his home - by sending an email from Bruce requesting his presence for a meeting for three days in a row; because 'Wayne Enterprises' Medical Division is wishing to form a Joint Venture with Drake Industries in order to facilitate the two businesses to generate larger revenue'.

"Blah, blah, blah." Tim grumbled as he hung up the phone with Dad.

"The email worked." Jason concluded.

"He was sold at the word 'revenue'. Thank goddesses for Bruce and Barbara's email manipulation skills." Tim told him. "So now, I'm good to go - or rather, to  _not_  go - until the weekends. I just..." he sighed. "Sometimes I wish I don't have to lie to dad and can just tell him what happened in my life, you know?" Jason scowled mockingly, and Tim chuckled. "Sorry, that was a hypothetical remark."

"At least you have a dad to lie to," Dick replied, appearing suddenly from the back of the servers.

Tim has decided that he should definitely utilize Jason's teleportation abilities and mostly reside at the Wayne Manor, and get to his own home by early morning. No matter how nosy they are, his neighbors, he reasoned, would not be suspicious; after all, he was a grad student with full-time job for  _his own_  company.

Dick was unmistakably delighted, as was Alfred. Bruce said that it was a "prudent decision, Tim," and was barely seen in the first few days Tim was there.

Barbara and Dick assured him that Bruce was as excited as they were of having Tim in the house. "He's just not used of having feels." Barbara deadpanned. "Just ask Dick, how many times in his life that Bruce had told him he loved him or proud of him or any other 'dad' stuff."

Tim smiled ruefully. "At least he hasn't told me he's disappointed in me."

The sudden awkward silence between Dick and Barbara - and Jason - was unmistakable. Fortunately, Jason was not one to let silence go on for too long. Neither was he one to hide his opinions. "Tim's dad is a royal ass and said he was disappointed that Tim wouldn't move to Central City." Jason quipped.

Tim huffed. "Thanks, Jay..."

"His stepmom was great, though. Obviously the logical brain in the household." Jason added.

Barbara smiled. "Yes, Dana Winters. She was one of my starter physiotherapist. She's good at her work, being a healer and all." she said. "What, you didn't know she's a healer fae?" she added at Tim's surprised glare. Tim then steered his glare to Jason.

"Uh... I thought you knew..." Jason replied sheepishly. "You always thought of her as a 'healer', I thought you meant that literally."

"Yeah, well, no. I didn't. She is a licensed physiotherapist. I just never... no wonder she was so tolerant of me..." Tim sighed. "Anyway! Who is this... Garfield Logan guy and why should I meet him?"

"He's a shapeshifter.  _Human_  shapeshifter," Dick clarified. "His transformation was due to a... well, misguided potion of some sort. He had contracted a deadly disease in rural Africa when he was a toddler, and his parents didn't think they could wait for a healer to arrive. They created a potion that would definitely cure him from the disease, but miss... either misspelled or mispronounced some incantation, and Gar... kinda turned green and was able to shapeshift to whatever creature he wants to be. He's 17, and... honestly, is still too young to be around us, you know?"

"You mean he crimps your style." Jason deadpanned.

"Naah, not at all. I'm just personally freaking out if I have to be responsible for a minor, that's all." Dick replied blithely.

"So he'll be the big-bro we don't need." Tim added.

"Technically,  _Jason_  is currently the big-bro you have right now, and he can't really be held accountable for anything..." Dick said.

"Technically, we  _don't need_  a big-bro baby sitter." Tim continued, nonplussed.

"Technically--" Dick stopped and heaved a sigh. "Okay, the thing is that Gar didn't feel like he belonged. He's much younger than all of us, and he thought he would rather be with those his own age. It was  _his_  idea to go and hang out with you guys, and we all thought it would be a good idea."

"Nice save." Jason quipped.

"Not a save..." Dick started again, but Tim cut him off.

"Whether it's because you don't want him, or he doesn't want to be with you guys. Whatever. I don't care. He can drop by this Friday and hang. If he can get along with everybody else, he can stick around. If he offends any of us, or act out - sorry, we don't have time to babysit, either." Tim decided.

"Okay," Dick relief seemed palpable, and Tim felt a little sorry for Garfield Logan. To be the one no one wanted to hang out with was not a strange feeling for him. He might have a lot of kids wanting to hang out with him through school; but they all wanted something from him - ranging from his brain to cheat from to job or business opportunities, due to the fact that he was managing Drake Industries.The gang was literally the first group of people who wanted nothing but to hang out with him, as a friend.

Sure, none of them have the funds Tim has; but it wasn't like they would simply leave the bills to Tim. He could still remember when Conner got his first stipend from helping out at the Kent's farm, and he bought everyone donuts. Or when Cassie got her first check from her published short fiction based on Greek mythology and bought them all dinner for the night, as well as a framed photo for Tim because she said he was the inspiration for the hero. Or when Bart tried to cook for them all and managed a very big pile of pancakes, because that was all that he could make, and finished half of it on his own.

The islet itself has a cabin - and said 'cabin' has twelve rooms. Once upon a time, Tim's mom had wondered aloud what it would be like to have and operate a Bed-and-Breakfast. When he bought the islet, Tim had decided to make a sort-of B&B, only with a lot more security installed - both magickal and technological - and not really open for public. From the outside, the islet looked as if it has a tiny little hut hidden in the middle of trees. From the land, it would be a minimalist flat building with a lot of rooms and an indoor Olympic-sized swimming pool in the middle, a large gym, an even larger games' room, and an industrial kitchen.

By that weekend, however, Tim discovered that Garfield Logan was not the only one he would be welcoming into the metaphorical clubhouse. He was about to introduce Garfield, who had arrived via the ocean - as a dolphin, no less - and saying that his family has an island a little farther North; when something crashed on the back of the clubhouse.

They scattered, with Bart ahead of the line and Tim was 'ported there by Jason in full protective mode to the point of, if Tim had allowed it, Jason would have probably ensconced him in a steel bubble or something along the line. Rachel and Cassie arrived a little later, followed by a cheetah-formed Garfield.

"It's... it's alive!" was Bart's first comment. Rachel stepped forward, ready to help. The human-formed something stirred, and its--  _her_  hand glowed.

"Step back, Rach!" Cassie ordered and took the brunt of the sudden blast that fired from the injured woman's hand.

"Stop!" Tim commanded the injured woman. "you're hurt. We're not gonna harm you!"

Her eyes landed on Jason, still fully winged; and then Garfield who had just morphed back to human form, and then decided better and changed to a monkey. "Kory!" he squealed. "Kory it's me!"


	15. Chapter 15

"Hoookay..." Tim breathed out slowly, carefully, almost painfully. "Kory is an extra-terrestrial - like Clark, but from a different galaxy. That much I can... digest. I think."

"I'm still lost." Bart volunteered.

"I'm with him." Jason agreed.

"You two are no fun." the newly arrived,  _orange_ -skinned, and red-haired girl whose name was apparently Koriand'r - the apostrophe was explained by Garfield - remarked. "But you are fuzzy," she added toward Jason.

"Fuzzy." Jason looked offended. "I am a fierce warrior of the All Caste. You think you might just need a pair of glasses?"

"What's a glasses and why do they come in pairs?" Kory asked sweetly. Gar snorted a laugh.

"She's... well, how do I put this nicely. She doesn't exactly  _see_  things. Kind of like-- well, her people is a descendant of cats, really. So much of their physiology is that of a feline, including their sight. They see things as more fuzzy outlines and blurry colors, but she can know you by your unique scent and aura." he explained. "She used to hang out with us, the Titans, until she was needed back at her home."

"Has it been long, Gar? Space travels can be confusing at times." Kory told him.

"She was chronologically like, fourteen, when we first met her. So she's my age. Thereabouts." Garfield added. "And it's been two years Earth's time, Kory. Not long, but no soon enough. We--  _I've_  missed you!" he crowed to her as he morphed to a cat.

"Okay..." Tim repeated. "I guess the more important question is: why are you here and not like, go to where the rest of the Titans are at?"

"I followed the safe energy." she replied. "I merely need a place to reconvene, and I shall--" she paused and blinked owlishly. "I don't know... I needed to be here, on Earth. But I do not know what for." she glared at Raven, Cassie, Bart, Tim, and eventually Jason. "You are fuzzy."

"We've covered that," Jason replied. "And no, I have no clue of what she's talking about." he added at the other guys'questioning glances.

"I might," Tim surmised. "Cassie? Where's Aestos?" he asked. Aestos, Cassie's familiar that was named after the mythological Eagle of Zeus, appeared on her shoulder, looking at Tim. "Can you see her?" Tim asked Kory.

"A golden bird." Kory replied.

"You don't know the species, or you just don't see what it is clearly?" Tim persisted.

Kory inhaled, "I think she's an eagle." she replied. "Oh, she is a familiar." she added.

"Yes, that's why you think Jason is fuzzy. I think your sights for familiars are worse than your sight for common humans. You know that Jason is human, because his general shape is that of a common human. But technically, he doesn't have a 'solid' form, and all you see was his aura. How about Rachel's?" Tim asked again.

"Which-- oh! The big black and dark shape from earlier, is it?" Kory asked.

"See, we all see the big black and dark shape that is Rachel's familiar as a raven - a crow. Really big crow. We get the sharp outlines, but you don't. Remember when Rachel said Jason's aura was deeply solid?" Tim addressed the comment to Cassie.

"Oh, yeah. I remember. Okay, now that the mystery of fuzzies are solved, how about we return on why she's here and should we tell someone about this?" Cassie replied indifferently. "Apparently said fuzzies doesn't include Jason's wings. So. Do we call someone? Like, we're now the babysat club, aren't we?"

Tim started inwardly counting to ten, not wanting to snap at Cassie. He only belatedly noticed that Jason's wings, indeed, have not disappeared. Even  _Jason_  seemed not to notice, as he turned and looked and hummed before the wings actually disappeared. Kory started when the wings disappeared. "Well, you're... less fuzzy now." she commented.

Tim blinked. His eyes, unfortunately, landed on Cassie's as he re-opened them. "I'll call Dick to let him know about this. In the mean time, guys," he exhaled slowly again. "please be civil, yeah?" he added as he pivoted on his heels and headed back inside.

"I'm too young for this kind of dispute, but too old to order from kids' menu..." Jason grumbled as he walked alongside Tim.

"We're just..." Tim tried to find a reason to explain to Jason, but couldn't. "I'm too tired to think." he admitted. Jason's hands suddenly landing on his shoulders and massaged him felt heavenly, but counterproductive. "Don't, I might fall asleep on my feet." he warned.

"Then maybe you should. If everybody don't want to be babysat upon, I think you should walk away and let them fend for themselves for once." Jason retorted.

"I'm not the one babysitting them..." Tim protested feebly.

"No, but you're the one keeping everyone  _civil_  even between themselves. Even to me." Jason stopped his step, and Tim, who was generally clinging to him and walking on sheer will on Jason's wake, stopped, too. "Tim, you're the one tying them together. If you want to take the responsibility of being the  _responsible_  one, then you'll need to take care of  _yourself_  first. You're no good for them when you're a mess and can't focus on  _one_ thing."

"That's nice of you to say. But I'm literally not the responsible one here." Tim sighed. "Come on, I just... gotta figure out what to say to Dick about Kory."

"Wow, never expected my words to prove themselves so quickly." Jason quipped, but he followed when Tim went to the inner office. It was supposed to be the 'innkeeper's' office. But hey, no one was making bookings or paying, anyway; so it was converted as Tim's general office.

In his defense, this was his islet, his building. Therefore, he's entitled to have a 'study', 'office', or whatever else anyone was going to call it. So it was hidden from everybody else; in the sense that they knew it was there, but they would never see it unless they were invited into it. Bart joked that it was like a Hogwart Room of Requirements without the transformation to the desiring party's wish.

What Bart didn't know was that Tim  _did_  enchant the room to fit in to whoever wanted in. To Bart, it was filled and messy, where he could actually run around picking up things and make them neat again. To Cassie, the general color scheme was green and blue - more to calm her down than it did Tim. To Rachel, it was brightly lit and but spartan.

For Conner, Tim knew, was mostly like what Tim would set up the room as. A generic boy's bedroom without the bed, some messiness, a lot of gaming electronics, and comfortable bean bags. He didn't set it up, the room doesn't work that way. But it was very similar to Tim's own: a spot for computers, a spot for reading, and another for just watching TV.

He sighed loudly as he entered the room. Predictably, it changed just as Tim expected it. But something else changed just a little out of his peripheral vision.

"This... I never had a sandbag here." he commented, standing at a newly formed sandbag at a corner of the room. "Was it you?" he asked Jason.

Jason cocked an eyebrow in question. "I've been here a lot of times, Tim. I couldn't change a thing - other than maybe move a bean bag or two. I'm not a human, remember?" he reminded. Familiars don't get to have their wants granted in the room - simply because the room didn't view them as a solid human being. Conner was an exception because he was made from an effigy, not from ethereal essence like Jason or Aestos, or Rachel's Raven.

Tim stroked the sandbag and gamely tried to punch it. On his side, Jason cringed. "Yeeeah, you gonna break something if you punch it like that... probably your wrists. Most likely your wrists." he commented as he fixed Tim's fist, and then his stance. "Punch like this." he guided Tim's body with his own gently several times, until Tim felt confident that he could punch it without getting himself hurt. "I'll get some wraps. Don't hit it too hard, yet. But if this is your idea of venting, I'm all for it." Jason added.

Tim froze. He was not a violent person, per sé. He has had martial arts lessons; but never felt the need to indulge in a physical combat, largely because he could simply change elements into something else and effectively - sometimes literally - build a wall between him and his attacker, when or if he ever needed one.

He wanted to hit the sandbag. Hard. Then he remembered that he has something else to do. As he picked up his phone, he decided on sending a text instead of calling Dick as he'd initially planned. Then he turned to the sandbag with a look of determination on his face. Jason has found a roll of sports tape and was smiling slightly when he started wrapping Tim's hands.

"Go for it, Tim. Just be angry for a while." was his words of wisdom before Tim started hitting the sandbag. Again, and again and again until both his arms' muscles were sore; never even realizing that the sight of the sandbag was starting to blur through the mix of sweat and tears in his eyes.

Once he stopped, he realized that Jason was still there, calmly reading through Tim's tablet.

"Better?" Jason asked.

"Yeah," Tim exhaled slowly, trying to regulate his breathing again.

"Want to shower or something before replying to Dick?"

Tim cringed. "Nah, I'll get the dirty done and over with now than later." he said, picking up his phone. "As I expected. He said we should be glad Kory's here, she could help and yadda yadda yadda..." he read out loud, and then frowned. "Apparently she's a tad more invulnerable and literally battle-trained than the rest of us, but is less invulnerable from influences. So basically a tween." Tim rolled his eyes. "Superb."

Jason shrugged nonchalantly. "Oh well, you know no one can blame any of you teens if you're screwing up something - like a cosmic invasion or whatever. They should know better. But then again, throughout history, it has been the young who stood up and made the changes, anyway." he remarked.

"You think I should make a training room? Like, a battle room or something like that?" Tim huffed. "And then what? Make them battle animated effigies?"

"For starter, yeah." Jason replied. "But if you're up to train those your own age, Tim, you gotta be better than they are first and foremost." The nonchalant tone was gone from his voice, and there was something in his demeanor that piqued Tim's interest.

"Do we even have time for me to be 'better'?" Tim asked curiously. "I mean, you said there'll be trouble soon. How soon are we talking about?"

Jason's second shrug was a little more subdued. "I don't know the time, but you might be able to ask Oracle." he suggested. "But it's always better to be prepared, isn't it?"


	16. Chapter 16

"This is unacceptable. You were supposed to stay in Gotham to get your degree! Not to...  _frolic_  with Bruce Wayne, of all people! That-- that...  _oaf_!"

Tim cringed, not even bothered to try to hide it. Dad could be vicious and petty and would get vicious and petty against those he viewed as "of a different caste" than his. Never mind Bruce and the Wayne family in general ought to have been of a higher proverbial caste than his. Or that it was Wayne Enterprises' jet that had brought Tim there, instead of having to pay for commercial airlines.

Sometimes Tim wondered how is it his mom, who was a member of one of Gotham's founding families, could tolerate his Dad. And then he remembered what Jason told him, offhandedly, out of the blue at the San Francisco islet: "She needed to spawn a strong one. He has good genes and magickal bloodlines."

Evidently, his mom was using Jack Drake more than the other way around.

Either way, Tim found himself looking at Dana Winters, Dad's new wife, for help. Dad was starting the same spiel as he did a few weeks ago, demanding that Tim should transfer his credits to Central City university and move there.

"He has a lot of experience in running a major network of companies, Jack. As much of a 'brute' that he is, he has quite a stellar business brain." Dana remarked.

"He also has a really massive library in his Manor. I've been learning a lot in there." Tim added, skipping the 'by assimilation' part of the 'learning'.  _Jason_  was the one who has been using the Wayne Manor's library extensively to the point where Tim would automatically go to the library whenever he couldn't instantly find Jason. Said methods of 'assimilation' might or might not include Tim falling asleep to Jason reciting 16th century manuscript of something in its original Saxony language, or muttering to himself while trying to decipher a Meso-American hieroglyph. But Tim definitely wasn't going to mention it.

He was starting to regret complying with Dad's demand of coming over in the middle of the week. Not only he would merely be able to spend a single night, Dad would think that his lack of time to stay was impolite; even if he'd said that he has classes to attend the next day.

Jason, too, was restless. He fiddled endlessly with the notebook he has with him, with a ton of hieroglyphic god-knows-what that he'd been scribbling on. Still, his restlessness had served as a distraction for Dad, and expert in Meso-American hieroglyphs.

"Look, Mr Drake. I need your best approximation of what this means," Jason interrupted. "It's... if it is what I think it is, then we need to get outta here." Jason said.

Jack Drake sighed exasperatedly. "What, praytell, is more important than my son?" he groused, but looked at Jason's scribbles, anyway. "Look, it's just a part of the Mayan apocalypse prophecy; you know? The one that was said going to happen in 2012 and did  _not_  happen? It's nearly a decade after 2012... anyway, see this? This is probably part of the Mayan calendar, like, the postscript note or something." he replied gruffly.

Jason's blank glare was a little frightening. Okay, no, a  _lot_  frightening because Tim has never seen Jason quite so intent and yet quite so scary at the same time. When he finally blinked, he turned to Dana and commanded, "get your kid outside. Now."

Dana blinked. "What...?" she asked. But Jason was not taking arguments.

"Get out, now!! All of you!!" he barked the order, grabbing Tim by the scruff of his shirt and nearly bodily tossed Tim out of the kitchen door.

"What is this! I do not allow strangers to--" Jack's protests was cut short by the sudden shake of the ground. Jason barely managed to grab Dana and Maya, her three-year old daughter; and propelled the three of them through the bay window of the living room, just as the ground shook violently - up and down, side to side, throwing Tim to the ground a few feet away from Dad. The shaking was barely stopping when he heard a loud screeching sound. Tim looked up just in time to see the house's front wall cracked and started careening toward the ground.

\--toward where Jason, Dana, and Maya were on the ground, waiting for the tremors to stop. Within the split second, Tim realized that he couldn't simply evaporate the wall - Dad would have been more suspicious of  _Jason_  if Tim had done that. Instead, he rearranged the brick wall, wooden windowsills, and the density of the glass of the bay window that Jason had kicked to go through, and pulled the molecules so that the three of them would be right within the sills as it fell. Sensing what Tim was planning, Jason drew his legs in to a crouch over Dana and the toddler.

The remaining glass broke softly and safely around Jason, and the wall slammed to the ground with a loud slam, followed by Dad's scream. His scream, however, was muted by the screams of the other people on the other houses along the street. He realized why just as the tremors actually stopped. Missouri did not come with earthquakes, unlike San Francisco. Even if Gotham was not prone to quakes, either, Tim has experienced quite a few 5-ers on the Richter scale in San Francisco, and was largely unfazed. Keystone, however, had no experience of quakes, and everyone panicked.

He could see the fires starting along the street, and was on his feet before he could even think of what he was supposed to do. "Jason!" he called, "find the gas mains!" he yelled as he concentrated on changing the cooking gases around him to oxygen. He could change them all, but if the origin of the gases were combustible, he could be spending all day here. His powers did not lend into changing the whole thing at once, but as he saw them starting to waft through the air. There would be a lot of people still having their stoves on, the time being morning and people were only starting to do breakfasts.

"Times like this one, I wish there are more people eating cereals..." Jason groused. "Gas main around the corner of the street. You going there?"

"Get me there now. There will be a little spark when I'm gone, just hope we're quick enough.." before Tim even finished, Jason already teleported him to the underground gas mains. "Great, it's next to the powers. Shut that thing down manually and I'll..." he commanded as he turned the gas main's valve for the street. It took several tries, and eventually Jason's help, for it to finally turn.

Tim slumped on the ground. "Oh, goddess... what the hell just happened."

"Mayan's apocalypse prediction came with latitudes and longitudes, and they're not originated in the South Americas." Jason replied, pushing the manhole cover to the side using a little magick, and Tim nearly applauded his foresight - there would be a lot of questions if the actual city services people come and found out that the gas mains and power were shut off. "That was at least an eight, was it? Well, it was right there in the prediction, and the latitudes-longitudes that pointed out to Springfield, which is only a few dozen miles away from here."

"Oh no..." Tim groaned. "There's... there's... got to be a major disaster situation there..."

"Yeah, but the first responders were already coming 'round here. We better get out manually, I think..." Jason suggested as his wings started to dissipate.

"Yeah, they... at least  _Dad_  probably won't be excited to see magickal person in his vicinity." Tim agreed.

"At least he's consistent, even if said magickal person - person _s_ , plural - have just saved his wife and kid." Jason scowled lightly.

"There's more than just the quake, isn't it? Missouri hasn't gotten any major quakes since like, the 18-hundreds... and the New Madrid fault line hasn't moved since." Tim said as Jason helped him out of the manhole. There was a distant wailing of the first responders' sirens, and no one seemed to notice two boys crawling out of a manhole. "Plus, if it's... you said the epicenter is in Springfield?" Tim paused.

"Yes, and it's not the fault line. There's... something coming out of the lake that caused the tremors. That's what the Mayans 'apocalypse' prophecy was about. A warning that on this day, in certain place, a creature of destruction would come out." Jason explained.

"I gotta tell Bruce..." Tim breathed. "Or Clark. I mean, what can I do against a creature of destruction?"

"Right," Jason replied absently as Tim pulled out his cellphone and thanking his habits of not taking out cellphones while on the dining table. Said dining table in Dad's house is probably flattened by now, along with Dad's cellphone. After telling Bruce of Jason's warning, he turned to find Jason already starting to assist some of the other residents.

He checked on the jet, just in case, and to his relief, found that the airport was generally unharmed and the jet could still fly if needed. Besides, Carol Ferris, the pilot of the jet and the main pilot that Bruce would hire for his jets; told him that, "it takes more than a quake to stop me from flying, Mister Tim," subtly reminding Tim that she - like Hal Jordan - wears a magickal ring and could fly at will, with or without a jet.

Then he turned to his Dad's neighbors, trying to help wherever he could. There were some people who were fast enough to get to the fire extinguishers in their respective cars - even ones who broke car windows to get the extinguishers. There were those who weren't fast enough and watched forlornly as the firemen tried their best to control fires in half-dozen houses. Tim couldn't control fires, but he could control the element around the fires. But to do that, he would have to be undisturbed. So he went into Dad's car and started concentrating to draw out oxygen from the houses with less-big fires, just so they could survive while the firemen worked on the bigger blazes.

It took just an hour for the firemen from three trucks to control the blazes; thankfully. Tim was absolutely spent, nonetheless, and was half asleep when Dad finally found him.

"Oh my god... can you  _please_  not be so lazy and help me out a little, here? I'm trying to pack up all the necessary things from the house so we can go to a hotel!" he scowled. Behind him, Jason gave him a knowing smile.

"I'll help you out, Mr Drake," he offered.

"Ugh, why can't you be a little more  _physical_  like Jason here, Tim? But alright, come!" he ordered. "Dana, stash Maya in the car! And then find us a hotel, will you? I don't think this place is livable until I can get it fixed."

Dana's daughter, Maya, crawled into the car and cooed at Tim. She might not be Jack's daughter, and was born just before her mother and Jack got married, but she thought of Tim as her own. "Timmy," she called.

"Hey, Maya. Come, just... I don't think we can fit your seat in here..." Tim commented.

"I don't think anyone would be fickle enough to account for kids' carseats in times like these, Tim." Dana replied, smiling as she slid in. "Good job on the fires," she added, winking.

Tim chuckled, remembering Barbara's comment on Dana being a healer. Dana would have known of Tim's abilities even before she wedded Jack. "I tried, at least there is no fatality..." he told her.

"Not here, I don't think. There are... some losses elsewhere." Dana said. "How's Wayne's jet?" she suddenly asked.

"Yeeeah, I don't think we'll get hotel rooms either, huh?" Tim smirked. "It's fly-able. The pilot is... a very confident fly girl." he added.

"Okay, I'll pretend to try and then you two help me convince your dad that we gotta get out of here, yeah?"

"I don't think he'll need much convincing..." Tim pointed to the numerous plumes of smoke in the distance. "Dad is afraid of fires. He's-- when mom was killed, they were in a literal ring of fire."

"Oh," Dana gasped. "I'm sorry, Tim..."

Tim shrugged. "Don't be, at least not at this point. That should make it easy for us to convince him to pack up just the important things and get outta here."

As Tim predicted, Dad turned  _very_  pale when he saw the rising smokes. "I--" he gulped. "is--" he continued, but couldn't bring himself to finish.

"We can go to Gotham, dad," Tim said quietly. "I've checked and the Wayne Jet that brought me here can fly out of here."

"Point me to the airport." Jack commanded, the fake bravado was mocked by the tremble in his voice. Tim simply inputted the direction to the private airport - a Wayne Enterprises corporate airstrip - and nodded slightly at Dana's thumb's up.

At the very least, his family would be safe from whatever creature Jason referred to. Even if the ironic safe place being Gotham.


	17. Chapter 17

It took a few more days for Bruce to return, after finally securing ways and means to transport the aids and help to Missouri; and then proceeded to rally a lot of other powerful magis upon his return to Gotham.

Tim, on the other hand, has other things to think of. Namely, his dad's decision to  _move back_  to Gotham City.

"At least there's no probability of major quakes here." he proclaimed.

And Tim  _definitely_  did not want him to stay in the brownstone - not only due to the likeliness of his displeasure of knowing how Jason is sleeping in the same bed as Tim, but also because the place only has two bedrooms - much too small for Jack Drake's taste.

Fortunately, Tim was not without backup plans. He had started to clean up his mother's old family home, located on the plot of land right next to Wayne Manor, just a little outside Gotham City's borders. It might be significantly smaller than Wayne Manor, both in terms of the building and the land plot, as well as being younger in terms of history; but it was last renovated a little before mother's death. Thanks to the terms of her will, neither Jack or Tim would be able to sell it for as long as Tim shall live.

And today, it shall be the home of Jack Drake, new wife Dana, and her daughter Maya.

"I'm... a little apprehensive." Dana remarked as she entered the yard. Even after such a disaster that ruined his home in Missouri, Jack was already back in Gotham's spotlight - so to speak. He had declared that Bruce Wayne shall not be the only Gothamites who would help, and thus he went on to the press and started a rally to raise funds.

Oh no, Tim would not -  _could_  not, even if he wanted to - allow Jack to expend out of the Drake Industries' funds.  _Tim_  had worked hard to get the company back on its feet after Jack was hurt and Janet had died. He had made several fail-safes to make sure that the company would remain among the living for at least 5 years, until he is of legal drinking age.

Still, at the very least, doing the rally to "prove to Missouri that Gothamites have hearts!" kept Jack busy for the two days it took Tim to clean up the Galavan House.

Today, although Tim has not finished, yet, Dana insisted to come along.

"You know that there are hexes and enchantments she'd done to cover this house and ground, right? And that's not including the ancient ones." Tim warned. "I was going to try to clean them up tonight, with Jason's help. Or at least negotiated some things so that whatever I cannot remove, would at least be harmless to you and Maya." he added.

"Oh, I understand. It's just... Tim, I think if your mother's or her ancestors' spirits are contained in the house; they'll appreciate it if I come on my own and explain myself." Dana smiled softly at him. "That I have no intention or wish to replace Janet as your mother, or Janet as Jack's beloved wife. I'm only helping you and your dad continue your respective lives."

Tim finally turned to look at Dana, and realized how little he had known of her, in spite of her being married to his dad for the past three years. He knew of her background, alright - that she'd delivered Maya two years before marrying Jack, that she was from Memphis and has a sister, that she was a licensed physiotherapist; as well as the additional information from Barbara that she was a supernatural healer. He knew the standards: where she had gone to school, who her ex clients were and how they were doing. But that was it. He'd never even asked what kind of food she liked, or the type of ice cream she preferred.

She knew that he was a magi and has practiced his magick a lot, that Jason was his familiar. Tim doubted that she ever knew that, contrary to Jack's beliefs, Tim liked sports and had had martial arts training when he was younger. They both had deliberately keeping each other at arm's length.

Jason teleported back from checking through the house, and reported, "I think it's safe for you to enter."

"But," Tim deadpanned.

"There're shat-load of hexes in there that's not even coming off the Galavan blood lines. I haven't checked, but seemed that they used to have a daimon who has... well, was not happy with how the family turned out, I think?" Jason replied, because he couldn't lie by omission to Tim.

Tim blinked. "I lived here for a good ten years. Never saw a daimon." he reasoned.

"Well, daimons don't generally appear to the bloodlines unless requested. Or they would remain unseen if a past family member deemed them as better off unseen." Jason explained. "I see them just fine, just that this one can't do anything to me because I'm yours. Your daughter  _might_  be able to see it, or not, since she's over five years old already." he told Dana.

"I'd rather she can't." Dana stated. "And how do you suggest we... mitigate this daimon?"

"Fort it," Tim and Jason remarked at the same time. "What." Tim grumbled.

"What?" Dana asked.

"Fort-ing it. Counter hexing it until it tells you what it wants and how to get it." Jason explained. "That's not what you were thinking, was it?" he asked Tim.

"I was thinking of cornering it somewhere and just keep him there. Like make an actual  _fort_  around it..." Tim shrugged. "I liked your idea better, though."

"Huh," Jason chuckled. "the ancient and millennials aren't that much different, after all."

"You mean the ancient would actually just fort-- detain that thing?" Tim demanded.

"Well, yes. That's what they did until... I'd say some time before the 17-hundreds." Jason shrugged nonchalantly. "So we now go and negotiate with a daimon, is that the consensus?"

"Yes, I'd rather that than detaining a creature and make it more angry." Dana nodded. "Shall we start? Do we need supplies?"

"Just a pint of your blood and the promise of Tim's firstborn," Jason quipped. "Kidding! No they don't need anything. Probably won't be more than a drop of blood for them to like, keep your DNA in their databases or something."

"Ghosts with databases. Okay. I'm--" Dana paused and exhaled loudly. "I shall suspend disbelief and do before stating anything." she said, sounding more like reciting something than making a statement.

"You didn't believe in Magick?" Tim asked as they walked over the yard toward the front door.

"I didn't, not initially. But... things happened that lead me to reassess my beliefs. And the funny thing is, whenever I think of Magick, I'd always thought of things like, covens, big boiling cauldrons, and black cats. After I met you, I realized that those were antiquated beliefs." she replied.

"Ehh.. yeah, not all magi has a black cat for familiar. Or have a familiar at all." Tim explained.

"Healers like you don't come with familiars in their bloodlines, except in times of war or something," Jason added. "...or if they chose to adopt one. But it's kind of adopting a cat, you know?  _You_  don't really adopt  _it_ ;  _it_ adopts you. Whereas a magi like Tim would get one whether he wanted to or not, as soon as he embraced his magickal side."

"That's interesting," Dana remarked. "So people like Jack, who shunned his magick, would not get a familiar."

"Nope," Jason answered as he pushed open the front door. "a familiar would simply perish if unrecognized. Not dead, though, just move on and attached themselves to other, more accepting magi. I think Jack Drake's familiar might have shunned him a long time ago." he shrugged.

A gust of cold air blew past them as the three of them entered, and Tim frowned. The Galavan House was not haunted, daimon or no daimon. The foyer was brightly lit by the sunlight coming through the windows on the sides of the door. It was not of Gothic architecture, like most of Gotham City, or Wayne Manor's mixed Gothic-castellated architecture. It looked less like a mansion and more of a chalet, simply because the Galavans had less land than the Wayne's, as well as less people and/or social events.

"You have to show yourself." Jason suddenly remarked, and Tim automatically pressed himself into Jason's body heat, belatedly realizing that Dana was gripping  _his_  arm pretty tightly, too. "He's Janet's son."

"Janet's son!" A voice boomed, and Tim rolled his eyes. The owner of the voice obviously did not know what kind of magick Tim has. Considering that it was a daimon, Tim guessed that it would have partial ectoplasmic existence that is less solid than Alfred's, and he could manipulate ectoplasm easily.

He did just that, and groaned in dismay at the figure that appeared in front of him, floating a few feet off the floor.

"Really, Mrs Mac?  _Really_?" Tim groused. "You're trying to  _scare_  me??"

Mrs Mac, an elderly lady Tim knew more to be wearing a highly conservative gown and has her graying brown hair in a bun, was Tim's nanny a long time ago. Never had he known that she was a daimon.

"Master Tim, your mother bid me to disappear when she... departed." she said, her form becoming more solid and... less floaty. "And now I see your father has brought in a new wife." she added haughtily.

"You knew her?" Dana asked.

"She was my nanny until my mom died, and then she  _resigned_. You could've told me you're a daimon and... whatever it is she asked you to do, I can decide whether to comply or otherwise." Tim scowled.

"She wanted you to embrace your being without prompting." Mrs Mac said solemnly, head bowed and hands clasped in front of her.

"If I'm not mistaken, a daimon is required to comply with the wishes of the continuing bloodline..." Dana suggested, but Mrs Mac roared at her.

"Don't you dare influence him!"

"Mrs Mac! Get over it! This is not the time to be territorial!" Tim snapped.

Mrs Mac sulked, "beg pardon, Master Drake, but..."

"I hereby void my mother's orders upon you regarding who may or may not stay in this house; and you shall allow Dana Winters and her daughter Maya Winters stay and live here and treat them as you would me." Tim ordered. "And you shall remain  _civil_  to Jack Drake, my father, regardless of whether or not you liked him." he added. Sandra MacIlhenny, the person Tim had known to be his nanny and turned out to be the Galavan family's daimon, could be petty; and Tim knew this well. She was, after all, the person/being who took care of Tim up to the day mother died and Tim moved to boarding school.

Tim might or might not suspected that she was the only person unhappy when Tim returned from boarding school after only a year, high school diploma in hand, and promptly decided to enroll himself in Gotham University. Dad was proud - so he said, for Tim to finish school so quickly. But he had just gotten married to Dana then and didn't live at the Galavan House; thus Tim wasn't convinced whether Dad was proud at the speed of his finishing school, or the fact that he wouldn't have to pay for boarding school anymore.

Regardless, Mrs Mac had 'resigned' the minute Dad got remarried, and Tim opted to stay at the brownstone. The brownstone, in spite belonging to his mother, was not an heirloom - that much he knew. But it has spectacular supernatural protection already, and it literally allowed Tim to live on his own without anyone even get suspicious.

She pursed her lips, and replied, "yes, Master Timothy," haughtily, and Tim didn't miss the change from 'Master Drake' to 'Master Timothy' as her passive-aggressive method of telling Tim that she despised taking orders from a child.

Tim couldn't care less.

"Okay, no blood needed." he told Jason, who was smirking a few steps on his side. "Dana?"

Dana was still rooted on her place, glaring at Mrs Mac. "Yeah?" she croaked.

"Meet Mrs Mac. She's the caretaker of this house and all  _I_  am allowing you to live in it." he introduced.

"She--" Dana croaked again, and then cleared her throat. "she's not going to present herself to my daughter as a floating entity, is she?"

"Mrs Mac!" Tim snarled.

"Beg pardon, Master Timothy, Mistress Winters-Drake." Mrs Mac replied, and landed.

Tim sighed. "I can't wait until Dad gets here..." he grumbled. "Please, please,  _please_  make him behave, Dana. I beg you."


	18. Chapter 18

Tim often mused why is it humans - and maybe humanoids - were so keen on patterns. Regardless of how elaborate a pattern was, there would always be somebody who could see the patterns and connect the metaphorical dots.

"You mean a semi-savant like you," Dick remarked when he showed the patterns he'd seen from the more recent supernatural happenings, as well as from the earlier case he was assigned to: the Victor Szazs murder rampage.

"I'm not a savant!" Tim protested.

"All geniuses are savant in one way or another, Tim, but not all savants are geniuses." Barbara commented.

"And that's not an insult, by the way. If I can, I'll trade my brain with yours," Dick added in all seriousness.

Tim just sighed. It wasn't the first time he was called a 'savant', 'erudite', or 'nerd'; and he still couldn't decide whether the tone was insulting or not.

"Anyway! The Szazs pattern, to me it looked like he was making his way out of Gotham, but the other ones looked like they were making their way  _into_  Gotham. You've arrested Szazs, haven't you?" he asked Bruce, who was studying the displays with the intensity that could probably bore several holes on the virtual monitors that were placed in the middle of the meeting table.

"Yes I did." he replied, nonetheless. "Barbara? Can you place the disconnects?" he asked. Barbara punched several keys on her keyboard, and more dots appeared on the screen, literally connecting several gaps in Tim's metaphorical string theory.

"These were happenings and murders of the supernatural nature, and we didn't initially include them in our analysis." Barbara explained. "They fitted exactly in your theory, and I'm... not a fan of coinky-dinks." she added.

"Yeah, me neither." Tim admitted.

"Am I the only one thinking they looked like the crop circles?" Dick mused out loud. "What?" he snapped with a raised eyebrow at Jason's blatant wide-eyed glare at him.

"You know what those crop circles came from, right?" Jason asked.

"Aliens?" Dick replied.

"I can't tell if you're being serious or not, but no, they didn't come from aliens." Jason deadpanned. "They're from the fae people. Those are warnings. The crop circles, I mean. Fae people see patterns, like Tim does. They see things on a much larger scale than humans or magis, and they would try to warn whoever is in most danger. The circles originally represented the movement of the danger, and then the target." he explained.

Bruce, in the mean time, was already pulling out a good number of reported crop circles from all over the world, and Tim was a little amazed at how many there were.

"Are they all confirmed?" Tim wanted to know.

"All but the pre-satellite era. Wayne Enterprises launched our satellites in the 70s and logged these. They didn't know what it meant, then, and initially thought that it has something to do with - like everyone thoughts - extra-terrestrials. They did, though, sent people to verify abnormalities on or around the circles, and these are of the ones they were able to verify, along with the abnormalities." Bruce explained.

Tim looked at his fingers, and blinked.

"Do my--" he started, and then stopped to gulp. Before he could freak out, Jason grabbed his wrists.

"Don't freak out, Timmers, it's just your nature." Jason told him. "Your mom was one of the last full-blooded fae, and you've got her tracking abilities. Just point to those screens and tell us what you see. It's alright."

Tim gulped again, having his fingers glowing - literally glowing, and he knew it wasn't just in his mind when Dick, Barbara, and Bruce openly gawked at him - was a little unnerving. But Jason was calm, and Tim trusted his judgment. Or maybe he shouldn't and doubt his own sense of judgment over what should he freak out upon.

He could feel the tingle once his eyes started to roam the monitors. One of the circles drew his interest, and he touched it. It - the picture of it - started to increase in brightness along the lines, starting from where Tim's finger had touched it, and the brightness spread until it completed the shape of the circle.

"What just happened..." Tim breathed.

"You're confirming. The ones that are complete have already happened." Jason replied.

"That's awesome," Dick gushed. "Touch this one!" he pointed at another, the shapes Tim recognized as the Peruvian Nazca Lines.

"Those aren't crop circles, technically..." Barbara remarked. Out of curiosity, Tim touched it, anyway. As he had suspected, it did  _not_  light up. "Damn, I'm right." Barbara gasped.

"Yeeeah, those were probably extra terrestrial based," Jason shrugged. "...or whatever calamity it predicts hasn't happened yet."

"Gee, that's a relief." Dick snapped.

"Hey, I ain't a fae, y'know. I know of these things, but I don't know what they would tell a fae. The post-modern days people 'round the old country would call them faery rings, and they could interpret them." Jason replied.

"But faery rings tend to be small - significantly smaller." Bruce pointed out. "Some were scientifically proven to be naturally occurred, as well; such as the circles that started when there is a dead body underneath it."

"Oh, I know those. The _adipocere_ produced by decaying corpse would change the acidity of the dirt, and thus making it impossible for plants to grow except for some really hardy ones or the ones that don't have long roots - like mushrooms." Tim replied. At Jason's questioning glare, he added, "I read it in a forensics book, actually."

"Right." Jason was still looking at him funny, but Tim actually didn't feel offended.  _Those_  were the kind of trivial things he would have spouted out at random, just to make adults look at him in awe. "So... you can touch them all and maybe you can correlate them to like, disasters? Calamities and stuff?" Jason asked Barbara.

"I can do that... this one was actually recorded in the 70s... hold on," Barbara entered a search string that responded to the date of the supposed appearance of the picture of the crop circle that remained lit. "are we talking of man-made or natural disasters, here?" Barbara queried.

"Both," Jason elaborated.

"UK or US? Or worldwide?"

"I would go with UK and US. Wait, before you tell me, I'd say there are about fifty points on this pattern." Dick commented.

"Fifty-five," Tim corrected.

"Fifty-five incidents that took a lot of lives in 1976 alone, in general UK and US." Barbara replied. "Oookay. What's the big circle in the middle for?"

"Start of war." Tim replied, and then blinked. "Uh, I don't have logical explanation of that... It just came to me..." he blurted. There was no rhyme or reason for him to conclude that.

"Lebanese Civil War." Bruce replied. "It was in my history classes in college. I had to remember the years wars started from the 70s onward in my political class." he elaborated at their collective questioning glare. Tim has to inwardly admitted that he'd often forgot that Bruce was not as stupid as his public persona implied.

"That was the only war that started then. So according to this specific pattern, there are 55 disasters that took a lot of lives, and one single war that started then and through the decade. How about this one?" Barbara pointed to the next one on the grid.

"That one is a non-fae. I can't tell if it's extra-terrestrial or human-made, but it's not fae-made." Tim said, touching the one next to the one Barbara pointed out instead. That one, too, started to glow and filled the pattern with light.

"Recorded in the 80s, like the first one you pointed at. That was... quite a decade with lots of wars and deaths and natural disasters..." Barbara muttered as she inputted a code. "This should correlate the dots with calamities through the decade..." The computer moved faster than Barbara's explanation, and each dot on both images of crop circles now pointed out the name of event, number of deaths, and causes. "I'm... wow."

"I'm... somewhere between impressed and scared and speechless." Dick muttered.

"If that included him being 'speechless', I'm not sure I wanna know him being loquacious." Jason huffed lightly.

"I haven't heard the word 'loquacious' used in a good long while, young masters and mistress. But I am in the possession of knowledge that this activity taxes young Master Tim's strength, and thus, replenishing of energy is required." If Tim was not surrounded by other people, he knew he would scream at Alfred appearing seemingly out of nowhere. He mentally scowled at his growling tummy, that evidently has been Pavlov-ed to think that Alfred's appearance would mean food.

"I agree," Bruce remarked. "You get first dibs for the food, Tim, it should be fair." he added, nodding at Alfred to offer the sandwich-filled tray toward Tim. Tim grinned uneasily.

"Uh... I'm good..." he replied, remembering that it is ethical to offer the older people first.

"It is fine, Master Tim," Alfred told him. "The master of the house offered you. Kindly take your pick even if you think you are not hungry. I assure you, I have seen enough of my share of young men, and all of them could always use more food."

"Right, thanks Alfred," Tim replied, taking a sandwich - pastrami on rye. "Is it okay if we continue while we eat?"

"Sure," Bruce shrugged. "Barbara?"

"I'm good. Go on," Barbara prompted after she acquired a sandwich for herself.

"Cool, maybe we'll get this done and figure out if there's rhyme or reason or both off those dots you mentioned earlier." Dick nodded.

A worry suddenly struck Tim. "What if there isn't?"

"I'd say that even if there's no rhyme or reason, there will be  _something_ ," Bruce said. "Even the most psychopathic serial murderer has an intent. And  _that's_  what we'll find out, even with lack of rhyme or reason."


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... bless you AO3, I promise when I get my finances settled, I'll be including AO3 in my budget.
> 
> Also bless you all who read and/or subscribe to this fic, left kudos and/or comments. I can't apologize for irregularly updating, since life happens. But I do hope I won't disappoint y'all with the contents!

"You are not appreciative at all of everything I've done for you, are you?"

Tim blinked owlishly, wondering what the hell did he do wrong this time to come into Dad's wrath the instant he opened his car door at the Galavan House. This could be tricky, a wrong answer could maybe cancel his entire plan for the week - or even the next decade.

"What?" he asked, opting for a safer question to clarify.

"You are living in the Brownstone downtown, and you have to set me and Dana up in your mother's family home! Do you know how insulting it is for Dana?" he demanded.

Oh, that.

"Plus, you called for Mrs Mac! Without consulting me first! You know what she thinks of little--"

Dad's rant was cut off by a shriek. A happy shriek. Followed by a little flash of Maya zooming out the front door and made Tim thank high heavens that the front door of this house didn't come with stairs like the Wayne Manor's front door; because Maya just zipped out of the door and run toward Tim with Mrs Mac in hot pursuit.

"Maya!" he gasped and, thankfully, managed to catch her.

"Timmy!" she shrieked into his ear.

"Ow! Indoor voice, Maya!" he scowled.

"This is fun!" she continued, still with a shriek. "We're outdoors!"

"Oh my..." Mrs Mac huffed and puffed as she stopped next to Tim. "Young lady! Return my spatula at once!" she commanded to Maya. "Or else, no desserts for you!"

Tim belatedly realized that Maya was holding something sticky and kind of hiding it on Tim's chest. He groaned. "Oh, ick... Maya... Why a sticky spatula...?"

"Mrs Mac made cakes!" Maya announced. "You can try it too!" she added, handing the batter-smudged spatula to Tim's face, barely missing smacking Tim with it.

"Oh gosh... thanks, Mai, but I know what Mrs Mac's cakes taste like and I much prefer the baked ones." he told her, taking the spatula over and handing it to Mrs Mac. "Sorry, Mrs Mac."

"That is fine, Master Tim. I handed her the spatula when her mother said it was alright. I should have known that she would run away with it." Mrs Mac replied, haughtily, but without malice. "Both of you shall require baths, I see." she added.

"Yeah, no worries about me..." Tim remarked, examining the cake batter smudge on his shirt. "You wanna go back in with Mrs Mac now?" he asked Maya, who shrugged nonchalantly. "Okay, let me rephrase that. Go back with Mrs Mac now, please, I was talking to Dad."

Maya huffed an offended sigh, but relented.

"Uh," Tim started as Mrs Mac took Maya back into the house. "yeah... I think Mrs Mac just... didn't like little boys, maybe. She seemed fine with Maya..."

Dad scowled. "You are a very ungrateful child. I wonder what your mom would have said if she sees you today."

Before Tim could reply, Jason - who had remained in the car during the first few minutes in the guise of making texts, probably - caught his hand and gushed. "Wow, Mr Drake, dude... you didn't tell me you have a house this big!"

Dad's scowl got bigger and better, and should have been immortalized for posterity. But Tim was sure he did not lack enough sense of self-preservation to pull out his cellphone and capture said scowl.

"It's Tim's mother's family home." Dad replied dryly.

"Eh, same difference." Jason shrugged. "Sooo... Timmers, you gonna stay here from now on or what?"

"No, he isn't," it was Dad who replied, and Tim surreptitiously squeezed Jason's hand in relief. "there's no point of him staying in here if he's going to spend so much time on campus, anyway. Besides, I'm going to need your car. You can make do with your bicycle, can't you?"

Even with several foot of distance, Tim could hear Jason gritting his teeth. "Aren't you glad we live close to campus, Tim? Next time, Mr Drake, might be nice of you to call ahead if you want to take Tim's car, so I can drive us over with my  _motorbike_." Jason replied. "Pretty rude of you to make him -  _and_  me - pedal a bicycle through the city street. If you want him dead as a roadkill, you shoulda just hire one of them serial killers. --whatzisname, Sass?" Jason added blithely.

"What? No! I-- it's not good for kids' health to rely on cars! They should get more fresh air through a bicycle!" Dad protested.

"No, actually, kids can benefit in terms of safety by being inside a construction with six solid steel around them, instead of a bicycle where they can't be seen by other motorists. But anyway, wanna come and walk with me to the Wayne Manor next door, Tim? I need to get something and Mr Wayne said I can go and ask Alfred." Jason nonchalantly flung his arm around Tim's shoulders before tacking on, "I'm sure Grayson wouldn't mind driving us back to the city. Or even Alfred, probably. They have like, a dozen cars each, don't they?"

"Don't you dare borrow a car from Wayne, Tim!" Dad snarled. But Tim was already walking away with Jason.

"Oh, don't worry dad. I don't have to borrow." he replied. Technically, Bruce has actually assigned a reinforced car for him since Tim managed to pinpoint Szazs' whereabouts - Bruce was a little paranoid that Tim would end up as Szazs' next target and thus provided him with even more protective paraphernalia. Tim just never gotten around to pick up the car, since he'd always go to the Manor in his own car. "Later, dad!"

"What do you mean, 'later,dad'? Aren't you staying for dinner?" Dana suddenly rushed from the backdoor of the house. " _I'll_  drive you back to the city, and then take the car back, no problem." she glared pleadingly to Tim.

"Oh, I don't know how long I'll be at the Manor," Tim replied truthfully. "I mean, they do have a massive library and Jason could get lost in there for  _hours_."

"I don't care. I'll wait up for you if I have to. Jack, why on Earth would you do that to Tim? That is  _really_  rude of you!" Dana scowled at Dad.

"Dana, don't worry about it." Jason told her. "He's right, I might take hours; we might even stay over or something if I find what I need - or can't find what I need."

"Nonsense. You're both kids. I don't care how late it is. Call me." Dana glared.

"Okay, sorry about dinner, though." Tim told her with a small, apologetic smile.

"I'll pack up the leftovers." Dana said. "You kids be careful."

"Yeah, thanks, Dana." Tim said, as Jason nodded and waved to her.

As they went around the bend that would obscure the sight of them from the front door, Jason started chuckling. "So, Timmers, you wanna walk there or shall I just zap you there?"

"Walk, I think. It's fine," Tim smiled at him. "Thanks, though. You don't have to stand up for me like that..."

Jason looked at him as if Tim has developed a new set of horns or something. "I - your familiar - do  _not_  have to protect you." he said flatly.

Tim chuckled, a little embarrassed at the irony of his own words. "Right. My bad."

"No, Timmy. Not everything is your bad. We're generally assigned to fend for your physical well-being. But there are reasons why the past familiars tend to take the shape of animals - and said reasons are of the psychological ones. Some people simply can't relate to other humans, and found animals to be a better companion. You, on the other hand, have no problem relating with other humans, and there are quite a number of magis like you; hence quite a number of humanoid familiars.

"Long story short, familiars tend to also care for their magi's mental well-being. It means anything from listening to said magi while they rant and complained about their day; holding them while they cry themselves to sleep; stopping the insolence of their own kith and kin with scathing words of our own; and so on and so forth." Jason explained.

"Okay, sorry..."

"Stop apologizing! Or else I'mma like, murder you and hide your body in these here yonder forest!" Jason scowled as he mock-strangled Tim.

"I wasn't! I mean, I was. But that was just... you know, kind of societal norms." Tim protested. "Plus, I think the Waynes have a dog. Hiding my body here won't guarantee you won't get caught." he added in mocked indignation.

"Oooh, I can do magick, Timmers. I'm sure I can think of something..." Jason grinned mischievously.

"Jason,  _I_  can do magick. You're my  _familiar_." Tim reminded. "Aren't you supposed to be like, the conduit of my magick or stuff like that?"

"Yeah, but considering your lack of self-preservation, especially when it comes to your dad, becoming a conduit of your demise sounds a lot easier." Jason deadpanned, and then laughed. "I'm just kidding, Timmers!" he added, ruffling Tim's hair.

"Yeah, I know... but I'm not... it's not like I'm scared or don't want to argue dad... It's just pointless, you know?"

"Uh, no...?"

"Like, he'll just repeat that-- whatever that thing is that pissed him off in the first place; again and again, ad nauseam; as many times as needed until I admitted he was right and/or am in the wrong. It's... the repetition is excruciatingly boring, after a good long while. My mom would just state the ever normative, 'you're right, dear', and walked away and didn't come home for days." Tim explained.

"Oh,"

There was something sad in Jason's small 'oh' that made Tim stop walking. "What?"

"Nothing," Jason hedged and tugged Tim along again. "Just... some people just don't deserve to be in your presence, Tim. Sometimes it's better to cut the toxic ones than enduring them and be poisoned."

Tim laughed dryly. "Yeeeah, as romantic as that sound, that's not gonna work when he's your last blood kin." he shrugged. "Anyway, I'm fine. I've got people who actually cared for me, and then you, right?"

"That should be me who cared about you,  _also_  several other people." Jaosn corrected, one eyebrow cocked haughtily. "By the way, just for the sake of changing the subject that you're clearly uncomfortable with; who's Maya's dad? I know she's not  _your_  Dad's daughter; colors notwithstanding. Also Dana is the whitest woman to ever white, and Maya is the sweetest caramel I've ever seen - and trust me, I've seen a lot of caramels. I'm guessing he's like, a second generation pure African? Third at most?"

"Yeah, probably. I don't know anything about him, really, just that his name is Henri Ducárd, French nationality. Dunno about how many generations, though? But France had a lot of African nations as its colonies... so probably?" Tim replied, a little relieved that Jason didn't press on the issue of Dad.

"I'll remind you to check on him when we get to the Manor. She's bright, a magi through and through, wholly protected from a lot, and have a shadow of a familiar - that is, a familiar who pre-assigned themselves to her and is most likely a heirloom familiar..."

"Like a heirloom tomato?" Tim blurted and cringed before his laughter broke. "I'm sorry...! I-- the setup was too easy..." he said amidst his laughter, even after Jason mock-punched him.

"I know, I realized that once the word 'heirloom' escaped my mouth. But not so much tomato as... oy, I dunno, Alfred? Mrs Mac?" Jason elaborated, grinning.

"Yeah, I get it. --wait no, I don't. I mean, you're not an inherited familiar... why?"

"Your mom was still alive, and had taken your dad's familiar by the time I was assigned. We're all given a few years familiarizing ourselves - no pun intended - to our Magi."

"What happened to that familiar?" Tim asked curiously. It was an aspect of her death that was a massive loose end. He  _knew_  she had a familiar, a white scorpion, of all things. "Shouldn't it return to dad or me before it goes back to... wherever familiars go back to when their people perished?"

Jason was quiet for a good moment before replying, "no familiars worth its salt would return to Acres of All once they failed to protect their person, Tim. Your mom's familiar would have been killed first, and that would be the reason why  _she_  was killed, too." he replied grimly. "We take our protecting jobs seriously, and would rather be killed than shamed. Especially familiars who were once rejected and taken by others."

Tim caught the somber tone in Jason's voice quite vividly. "Well... have you? I mean, I know you're really knowledgeable in the yonder... knowledge, I guess. But you sounded so sad when talking about familiars who weren't accepted by their magi." he asked carefully.

"Hooo boy... I can do you one better." Jason grinned, but the grin was vapid. "I was rejected by my  _mother_ , and is given a chance to live again. Here, in the now, by your side. I know what second chances mean, and I'm just happy to be here." he said as he grabbed the back of Tim's neck and gave a small squeeze.

"Well, glad or not, you're gonna get some run for your money on the mental health division, now that Dad is living here in Gotham." Tim grinned back. "Thanks, though. Really. Whether it's your job or not, I appreciate you."

Jason's eyes softened as he nodded. "This was a job, Tim. Now, though, it's all fun." he said, adding, "running for my money might take a different form, though! We gotta go and figure out some of the other patterns-- well,  _you_  gotta go and help Babs figure out the other crop circle stuff; and I gotta go do some reading, I think. Come on! There's Alfred at the door waiting for us. He might have cookies!"

Evidently, Tim thought as he sped up to catch up with Jason, his tummy wasn't the only one Pavlov-ed.


	20. Chapter 20

The day started with a bang.

Literally. Well, almost. Technically, the day started with Bart arriving in front of the brownstone, yelling, "Tim!" as he scaled the wall outside in high speed - because Tim's protection hexes made it impossible for him to vibrate in high speed through the wall. Tim had barely opened his eyes when Bart was thrown through his bedroom window by said 'bang'.

The two of them were promptly whisked away into the lower grounds by another, much smaller 'bang' that is Jason's teleportation.

"Itwasn'tme!" was Bart's exclamation. "Iswearitwasn'tme!"

"Bart! Stop and breathe!" Tim commanded. "What was that?" he asked, turning to Jason.

"Something went 'bang' outside your window, and I don't like it."

"No shit, Sherlock, I don't like it, either! But what  _was_  it?" Tim snapped.

"Gee, Sherlock, in case you didn't notice, I'm right here in the basement with you and have no intention of sticking my head outside to see what went 'bang'!" Jason snapped back, and Tim realized the stupidity of his question.

"Focus, Tim..." he muttered to himself, trying to wake up and settle his racing heart at the same time. "Alright. Coffee is out of the question. Logic. Logic should work. Is the house on fire? No. The alarms aren't blaring. Neither are the smoke alarms."

"It's a force field bang or something, I could feel it kind of pushing me in but not like, shredding me to pieces." Bart suggested.

Tim glared at him, still slightly not processing. It took another blink before he realized that while an actual explosive-based bomb would not have killed Bart, it would have - as he said - shredded his clothes even through the speed force field that enclosed him as he ran. Bart's street clothes were intact.

"Whoever it was, it's trying to get  _in_  here." Jason clarified. "Your alarms just said so. We're outta here, Timmers. Hold on, you two." he commanded, surprisingly awake, and taking the executive decisions to teleport them again.

The next time Tim blinked, he realized that, not only he was not at the brownstone anymore; but he was at the living room of Wayne Manor.

"Toto, I think we shoulda grabbed some decent clothes first..." he muttered, partly to himself as he saw Alfred approaching; partly to Jason, who was prone to sleep in just boxers. At least Tim had a T-shirt on.

"This way to the guest room, gentlemen." Alfred commanded after taking stock of the situation. "I daresay that something of immediate concern must have been afoot that you two appeared here in lack of appropriate attire." he added.

"Afoot, alright..." Dick Grayson grumbled as he walked out of the cave entrance. "what was that explosion in front of your house?" he demanded as he followed them to the guest room as directed by Alfred.

"I'd like to know that myself," Tim told him. "Gimme some time to clean up, will you?" he hedged as Alfred practically ushered him to the bathroom. "Thank you, Alfred..." he said with a whole load of gratefulness at the toiletries, as well as a set of clothes that has magically appeared. He made a mental note to ask if his assumption that the clothes being 'magically appeared' had been literal or otherwise.

"I shall expect you, Master Jason, and young Master Allen here to be in the kitchen once you are refreshed, Sir." Alfred told him.

"Yes, we will. Thank you so much," Tim's entire body wanted to squeal at the prospect of Alfred's breakfast. He was vaguely wondering if Alfred would have provided Jason with clothes, as well; when the latter appeared next to him. Walking. Through the opened door. Thankfully. Otherwise Tim might have gotten himself hyper-vigilant again.

"Dick said they noticed the bang as it happened, and Barbara was trying to find video footages of what had caused it." Jason reported, taking the second set of toiletries and started placing toothpaste on the toothbrush. Even after months of living with Jason, Tim was still amused at the fact that his familiar self-groomed in ways that a 'common' human-being would. He could've groomed himself with magick, Tim knew, but Jason apparently liked the taste of toothpaste.

"I've given her access to the CCTV cameras outside the brownstone," Tim said. "Not sure if the angles would be right at the bedroom window Bart blasted through or not, though..."

"The roof ones, maybe?" Jason suggested.

"I didn't blast through! I was  _pushed_  through!" Bart insisted, suddenly appearing next to Tim. "I'm all nice and clean. May I go to the kitchen? And maybe  _help_  Mr Pennyworth?"

"How did you know you were  _pushed_  through? Did you  _feel_  a push? I mean, I know that kinetic energy can be projected in a certain way..." Tim started, but Bart cut him off.

"I know how kinetic energy works, Tim, and yes, this is it. But there was something else. If it's pure kinetic energy, like something coming from a bomb or something, no matter how concentrated they are, they're flying in tiny little shards. Not like, if you throw a plate at me. Like, the way kinetic works is that the plate would be broken mid-throw and shred through me. This one felt more like the plate remained solid and pushed me." Bart explained, even as Jason paused mid-tooth-brushing and glared at him. "What?" he demanded.

"He's got a higher speed processing brain that's helped by the speed force." Tim explained automatically. Because Bart was only 13 years old and thanks to his link to the Speed Force, has higher knowledge-retaining abilities than other 13-year-olds. As a result, a lot of people older than he would be surprised at his analytic abilities. Especially those who had heard him wanting to bake 10 cakes in 1/10th of the time needed, with 10 times the heat.

Especially whenever he and Conner would conspire to try and attempt such ridiculous shenanigans.

Tim swallowed around the lump that suddenly formed in his throat and looked away from Bart. "I'm gonna get dressed. You two can go to the kitchen if you want," he told Bart and Dick, who had followed them to the room. "That's a  _hint_ , people! Out!" he finally decided to physically shove Bart and Dick out. Well, not Jason, since what else is new for Jason? But Tim liked to have a little privacy while changing into a less-sleep-tainted-clothes, thanks.

He sighed and took his time, in spite of the outfit Alfred has prepared would have needed no time at all to put in. Not surprisingly for him, Alfred has also prepared boxer briefs. Jason had put his on earlier using magick, and has now gone on his way to the kitchen with the other. Or maybe to the library - with Jason, one could never really pinpoint his priorities, really.

But when Tim eventually got to the kitchen, Jason was there - with a tablet on hand - eating a bagel. He barely looked up from the tablet as he gestured with the hand holding the bagel to a chair next to him. "Gotta show you something," he said, and swallowed the bagel still in his mouth a fraction of a second before Alfred glared at him.

"Right..." Tim almost groaned in happiness as Alfred presented him a cup of coffee. He made a mental note to see that there is a massive pot of brewed coffee at the kitchen counter, and savored the first few gulps of the coffee. "Okay, I'm functional now. What is it?"

"Bart was right about a solid force pushing him through your hexes and protective spells. But..." Dick started and looked at Alfred, Zitka, and eventually back to Tim. "Tim, I've told Bruce about this, and he's in Metropolis, but is on his way back right now. I'm..." Dick paused again and looked at Jason.

"What is it?" Tim snapped. "What the hell are you trying to say to me, Dick?"

"I know It's been almost three months since..."

"It was Conner, Tim!" Bart suddenly blurted out excitedly. He has been wolfing down quite a sizable amount of bagels, which - apparently - did not hinder his ability to speak.

Tim chewed on his bagel thoughtfully, and took his time to swallow before asking, "What about Conner? I'm... he's gone, Dick. I'm okay with talking about him..."

Dick once again exchanged glances with Barbara, Zitka, Jason - and even included Alfred, this time. Tim inwardly groaned and tried to not roll his eyes.

"Guys? I may only be 16. But I've handled and managed loss before, remember? My mom? She was one of you? Conner was my best friend, like Bart here. I'm sad that he's gone, but doesn't mean I'd go into hysterics every time somebody mentioned him." he assured them.

"Wayne Enterprises' satellite was the only one that managed to grab a visual of what happened." Barbara started. "This..." she added, taking the tablet from Jason's hand, "is what we caught."

Tim looked at the video clip on the tablet, showing his brownstone. He could see Bart's Speed Force energy signature zipped past, in an already-slow-motioned clip.

He was in the middle of a blink when he saw something else. Just as Bart zipped upward toward his bedroom window, another energy signature blasted.

"Oh my goddess!" he exclaimed, reeling the footage back and played it frame by frame. The non-Bart foreign energy signature existed in only two frames, and it was crazy that Tim even managed to see it. "Oh my goddess!!" he exclaimed again, shoving the tablet to Jason. "Did you see that??"

"Well, yeah." Jason replied coolly. "Seems that your buddy was the one who pushed Bart in, literally _pushed_ Bart in." he continued as he calmly slathered another bagel with cream cheese.

"But-- but-- but--" Tim spluttered. "How...?"

"That's what we need to figure out." Dick remarked. "That's what we've told Bruce. We've literally never dealt with effigy with a soul before - and Jason couldn't come up with any explanation, either. Apparently this has never happened - once an effigy familiar is demised, it will remain demised.

"Bruce suggested that Clark may be able to pinpoint the energy's origin or location, even interdimensional. You--" Dick bit his lip, hesitating. "...please don't get your hopes too high, both of you. It might just be a residual energy that was contained within Tim's hexes, because he'd spent a lot of time at your brownstone. But it could also be someone trying to mimic his signature."

"Yeah, because not everything that looked nice is peachy 'round this here side of the world." Jason drawled. Still nonchalant and a little pensive - yet enough for Tim to notice and be wary. Jason's job was to protect  _Tim_ , and he didn't seem at all entertained at the thought of seeing Conner's energy signature. Tim made a mental note to ask Jason for clarification in private.

"Okay, I got it. But does this mean my brownstone is safe for me to go back to, or not?" Tim wondered out loud.

"Just... wait until Bruce and Clark get here, alright? They should be here in a few hours. Is there anything you need to do today, Tim? Bart? Personally, I would prefer you two to stay here where it's absolutely safe." Barbara chimed in.

"You mean since Conner's energy has never been allowed in by the protections of this place." Bart deadpanned. "But I gotta go back to school. I was only going to prank Tim and then go back to school before anyone realized that I was gone. Max is gonna blow a gasket if he knew I'm gone..."

Barbara looked at Bart long and hard, probably trying to decide whether to scold him for his truancy or else. But she eventually said, "Alright, you can go. Just make sure your commlink to the here is up and running at all times so we can check up on you - at least until we figured out what was going on, alright?"

"Okay! Thanks, guys! Thanks for breakfast, Mr Pennyworth!" Bart cheerfully announced before he zipped out from the back door, heading back all the way to Keystone City, where he lived with Max Mercury.

"Alright..." Tim sighed. "I need to get to a class by..." he paused and looked at the clock. "...oh thank goodness. I've got a quiz at 10. I think I'll need to borrow a vehicle or something, because I  _definitely_  won't want the guys on campus to see a winged-Jason."

Dick tossed him a key. "That's my bike. Be nice to her." he said.

Tim glared at the key, which sported the logo of a brand he  _knew_  would just be too big for him to handle. Before he could protest, Jason snatched the key from his hand.

"Don't worry, Dick, your bike is in good hands." Jason grinned impishly. Dick cringed, probably realizing his mistake now that it was too late to retract the offer.

Tim just sighed and wondered if there was any way he could get out of taking the quiz and not flunk his entire course, rather than taking a potentially life-threatening big-motorcycle ride with Jason on the driver's seat.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last post of 2018! Here's to all writers, artists, creators-in-general out there! May your muse speak clearly and constantly and consistently with the plot and time in 2019; may your creations be enjoyed by many; may you be encouraged to create forever and always! No matter how you think of your work, your work mean something for someone out there.
> 
> Happy New Year!
> 
> PS: No, this fic isn't ending just yet. I have four more parts to post. :D

And then there were Cthulhus.

Tim definitely wondered what is going on with his life, but thanking high heavens anyway that the quiz was done electronically and did not require the professors to collect papers. Otherwise, his entire grades could be jeopardized. Or worse: he could be required to take another quiz once this... Cthulhu-looking creature stopped its rampage.

To make matters worse, Bruce and Clark arrived, upon the request of the city's mayor, to "handle the situation with the obnoxious creature."

"Can't they handle pranks anymore?" Sebastian Ives, a classmate of Tim's who was his classmate in high school, commented snidely.

"Ives, if said pranks is the size of the Science Labs and eats people for a living, I think I'm good with... not being in its way." Tim retorted.

"Whatever happened to the good 'ole crazy entitled white kids and bullies of-- oh wait, right. We left them in high school, right?" Hudson Lyle, another one of his former schoolmates who was older than Tim was, remarked idly. Tim knew that Hudson was scared, and was covering his fear with sarcasm and bravado to the brim.

In other situation, even in the dreaded siege situation, Tim might have welcomed the distraction - simply because he could change either a bullet's consistency before it hits someone; or change its trajectory. Ironically, it was how Tim figured out how to work his magick - when a shooter got in to his high school and he ended up face to face with someone who was shot in front of him. His simple attempt to stem the bleeding of the kid ended up as literally re-shaping some of the kid's torn insides into its original form; and thus saving the kid's life.

In this kind of situation, where panic screaming went on endlessly from the other side of the building down the corridor toward their classroom as people ran away from a creature with unknown consistency; Tim could only hope that Jason would figure out how to get close to the creature and find out what it actually was.

It took all but thirty seconds, when a wisp of smoke appeared in front of the three of them. Tim almost cursed Jason, when Rachel's face appeared within the smoke.

"He asked me to help," Rachel said. "They will not remember, they will think you have ran away. Come!" she commanded. Tim reached out and held her hand as she waved her other hand, and a cloud of black mist covered them again. The next time Tim blinked, he was standing in front of Jason, who was half-hidden by a pillar while a plethora of other students run past them.

"Hold on to me, both of you." he ordered, grabbing Tim's arm as Rachel grabbed Jason's and hang on for dear life against the tide of people running through the long corridor of the campus. "It's organic," Jason added.

"What?"

"The creature, Tim, not the food in the cafeteria..." Jason continued.

"Oh, that's a problem..." Tim sighed. "I can't dispose of organic creatures."

"Why not?" Rachel wanted to know.

"That'll... whatever I changed them into will equal to killing them." he explained. "If I change the oxygen around them, I'll risk killing it  _and_  the people around it."

"Oh," Rachel thought for a moment. "I do not sense... oh wait. Maybe I can help..." she said, and then teleported herself away again.

"Is this why you asked for her specifically?" Tim asked Jason.

"Specifically?"

"Because she can teleport?"

"Oh, that. Yeah, and because that thing is organic and I've thought of your stance against killing living beings." Jason replied distractedly, and Tim noticed belatedly that people who were running past the pillar Jason was leaning on would skid away from it, as if hitting an invisible force.

"Oh right," he reached out with his free hand, and pushed his own magick to turn the literal invisible force even stronger. Unlike Zitka, whose magick was protective, Jason's idea of protective was more in the offensive side instead of defensive. His invisible wall would have taxed more of his energy than if he'd thrown everyone away with the same energy.

"Thanks," Jason murmured. "There it is... less people now..." he pointed just as the creature - apparently was correctly called 'chtulhu' as per the announcement earlier - lumbered along.

"Did it swallow people?" Tim wondered out loud.

"No it didn't, the people it passed are petrified within." Rachel replied as she reappeared next to them. "It is scared."

"Oh hey, so am I!" Tim retorted. "Both, actually, petrified and scared."

"Is it bigger? You said the people are petrified  _within_." Jason clarified.

"Yes, they are. Their fear only feed to his fear even more." Rachel continued.

"Convenient. So what we do now? Toss a bouquet of flowers and hope he'll roll over and calm down?" Jason scowled.

A-ha moments, Tim discovered, could literally come from paralyzing fears.

"Cannabis." he muttered.

"I think it's still illegal in Gotham. Plus, I'm not sure your friends would have enough for all of--" Jason abruptly stopped. "Oh, hell, no. It's the  _smoke_  that makes people high, Tim. Ideas on how to make smoke without fire, first, maybe?"

"Dry ice?" Rachel suggested.

"It doesn't burn. Just... oh, I know." the dust settling around them in the creature's wake gave the ideas. "I just need to figure out how to keep  _us_ out of the smoke's path."

"Who said I want to be out of the smoke's path when it involved cannabis sativa?" Jason smirked. Tim gave him a withering glare. "Oh, fine... I'll puff the smoke that-a-way with my wings. Happy now?"

"Very, shall we?" Tim started, crouching and touched the dust around his feet, correctly deducing that they would have been plaster and gypsum and not so much concrete, and mutated the dust into THC as Jason's powerful wings swooshed the dust away and well into the path of the creature.

As he expected, it took effect on the creature - and probably the humans it ingested-slash-absorbed.

"I hope his effect doesn't include farting real hard at random," Rachel quipped. Jason snorted a laugh.

"Or get hungrier..." he warned.

"Not funny!" Tim snapped.

Thankfully, hungrier didn't seem to be in the creature's brain. As Rachel confirmed that it was indeed getting calmer and drowsier by the second.

"Well, so do the people within, really..." she shrugged.

"Ideas on how to get them out?" Tim demanded.

"He'll get them out - so he said." Rachel confirmed. "He just contained them to actually keep them out of harm's way as he figured a way out from here."

"Okay, nice. Won't it be nicer if he'd just say so and maybe not do some property damage?" a friendly booming voice with slight Southern accent spoke from behind them. A voice that sounded a little like Conner's, but made a lot heavier by age and experience.

"Oh, hi, Mr Kent," Tim greeted. "You think you can disperse of the fumes quicker before  _I_  get high?"

"No problem, Tim." Clark Kent, the OG Superman, replied. He inhaled the fumes Tim had created and somehow restored some sort of order. Or maybe it was the fumes - there were people, still. But they have stopped running around in panic, and instead were pretty much glaring at each other with somewhat blank looks over their respective faces. "Congratulations, you made the whole hallway high." Clark commented, smirking. Evidently, his alien metabolism allowed him to  _not_  get as high as everyone else around the creature.

"Ehh... yeah, that was the only thing we could come up with." Tim replied hastily. "Rachel?"

"I don't think mind-altering is necessary here, they're... well, kind of been altered, already. Though with less magick and more...  _that_ ," Rachel thumbed at the dust.

Just as Tim thought everything was done and dusted - pun or otherwise - the creature made a loud burp and suddenly regurgitated the people it had swallowed.

"Oh. Ew, he's the barfy kind..." Jason quipped, grimacing.

"Lucky he has no digestive system..." Clark commented. "That all? Well, come on then, buddy. We'll get you outta here back to the waters of Atlantis--"

"No, no, no... he should go to the Pacific!" Jason corrected. To Clark's and Rachel's questioning glare, he replied, "What? Cthulhu is supposedly came from the Pacific. Not Atlantis. Otherwise you might end up with the King of Atlantis' wrath. That'll be nasty."

Clark glared at Tim, and Tim could feel the blush creeping up his cheeks. "Uh, he's right... The King of Atlantis and Cthulhu here have a history of... yeah, not good. And we're closer to Atlantis."

"Right," Clark remarked, rather dubiously, but then took the creature by its... arms, or whatever those tentacles served for, and took to the skies through a hole on the roof.

"Good job, all of you. Now disappear." Bruce suddenly appeared from the shadows and commanded. "I'll see you all back in the Manor."

"Oh no, not me, thanks. I still have sixth period after this. See you, Jason, Tim, Mr Wayne." Rachel demurred, and then disappeared in a cloud of black smoke. It took Tim a little while to realize that Jason's wings were still there.

"We're still taking Dick's bike. He may not be happy with me driving it, but he'll be less happy if we leave it here." Jason pointed out.

Oh, right. They were still using Dick's bike.

"Why are you using Dick's motorcycle?" Bruce asked curiously.

"Uh--" Tim hesitated, but Jason did not.

"His dad was being a little wanker and took his car."

Bruce looked at Tim and nodded slowly. "We'll discuss this in the cave. Go now before they see you." he addressed the last comment to Jason.

"Let's ride, Timmy!" Jason obliged and teleported the two of them to the bike garage. "Gimme a second to get rid of these..." Jason grunted and willed his wings to disappear. "Okay, let's go." he continued, taking the driver's seat and motioned Tim to hop on.

Something else nagged in Tim's mind. "I thought Cthulhu was a made-up thing?"

"The monster was. Lovecraft completely made it up. The... whoever conjured that one just took like, fanfiction description and traits and kind of winging it. The real species is... well, not as big." Jason replied. "Still, you don't want to dump it in to the Atlantis and have the King get pissed at you, do you? I mean, we're kinda closer to Atlantic Ocean than Metropolis."

"Well, yeah, good point. But can anyone contain it in the Pacific?" Tim insisted.

"Rachel thinks that it's peaceful, and there are actually others of its kind in the Pacific. If they wouldn't contain it, it'll... well, they'll just probably kill it." Jason replied.

"Oh," Tim frowned. "That's... we kinda just condemned it, then..."

Jason turned and glared at Tim. "It's not like, a real thing, Tim.  _Somebody_ created it."

"Yeah, but it's-- you said it's organic... it's a living thing." Tim argued, and clamped his mouth shut just as his brain said,  _Just like Conner was_.

Jason glared at him for a good long moment. "You should present your case to Bruce and that Clark guy, then, so they can do something about it. Right now, we really gotta get out of here before anyone gets back from the clouds and realized that they were literally seeing somebody with wings." he pointed out.

"Alright, let's go." Tim patted Jason's back and held on to the latter's waist. He could hear his brain saying,  _One problem at a time, Tim,_  and the more immediate issue was Jason and his wings.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I have a choice, I'd rather write fic all day. Alas, adulting is necessary. 
> 
> This update is a bit too short for (even) my liking, and is a little disjointed still with the next chapter. So I'm working on it. Thanks for sticking with me, guys!

"So... King Kong is real, and even Solovar don't know what to do with it."

"Technically--" Barbara started, and then changed her mind. "Forget it. I can't even-- I don't even know what's real or not real but is...  _real_ , anymore."

Dick placed his elbow on the table and chin on his hand. "I'm with you in this. But if you're gonna say that 'technically Solovar of Gorilla City  _is_  King Kong', you're not wrong. Just... this King Kong is about three, four storeys' tall. And Solovar himself isn't even eight feet tall. He's like, seven-foot-two? Something?"

"I'm lost." Tim admitted, as he walked in to the room in the middle of the conversation.

"Hi, Lost--"

"Grayson, no dad jokes. You're not a dad, yet." Jason interrupted.

"Did my bike get home in one piece?" Dick turned to Jason.

"Definitely not, it's in approximately 142 pieces between here and Sprang Bridge." Jason replied insolently.

"Oh, cool. Considering there are about 800 pieces on that thing, means the puzzle pieces that was my bike are still big enough to reassemble..." Dick responded idly.

Tim met Barbara's glare before simultaneously rolling their respective eyes.

"Uh, guys? King Kong?" Tim finally decided to press. "I know I'm not gonna like the answer. But I gotta ask, don't I?"

"Yeah, well, I didn't like it either, but I ended up facing  _it_..." Dick replied, shifting. Tim finally noticed and realized that under the fitted V-necked shirt, there were parallel bulges. Slight enough to not be noticed, if Tim hasn't seen the sliver of white under Dick's collar.

"You're injured." Jason, who apparently noticed the same thing, commented first.

"Pretty much. Bruised ribs, several stitches--"

"Dozen. Several  _dozen_  stitches," Barbara corrected.

"--several dozen stitches. And they all came from a freakin' King Kong."

"Dick was the damsel in distress, shrieks and all. Only Kong wasn't looking to like, rescue him from the nasties that is Men's World, but rather to devour him or something." Barbara elaborated. "And I have the only unedited footage, complete with sound."

"Dibs on watching it!" Jason exclaimed.

"It squished me." Dick said, looking almost proud. "And I gotta say that was the first I've seen Kong vs Elephant."

"Zitka was... clearly unhappy and expanded herself to be bigger than the Kong. Rammed herself onto Kong and freed Dick. The others... Arsenal was then able to shoot it with enough tranquilizer to sedate... --uh..."

"Ten gorillas?" Jason's unsuccessful attempt to  _not_  smirk was all too visible.

"Yeeeah, thereabout. Probably closer to like, twenty gorillas from Gorilla City that are larger than common gorillas by default..." Dick concluded. "And then Donna Troy moved it from Downtown Manhattan to... I dunno where she brought Kong to." he admitted.

"Best to not know, really. It was re-shrunk into its ordinary size - which is, as anyone would suspect, that of a common silverback gorilla..." Barbara finished. "Sooo... you guys got Cthulhu, I've heard."

"What the hell's going on, anyway? We've got literal made-up creatures coming out the wazoo..." Jason groused.

"I thought Cthulhu was real...?" Barbara queried.

"It is - the species. But not as massive as the one we saw on campus. Just like your Kong." Jason explained. "So yeah, what the hell...?"

"Those creatures were made up. Man-made with... Well, I'd say Lovecraft probably had the better prosaic description of the one we saw. But a massive Kong was absolutely... unimaginative." Tim remarked. "I'm just hoping that whoever did this won't do Jurassic Park next..."

"I would probably roll my eyes so hard at the first live T-rex or velociraptors I see, shoot them damn things and make steaks." Dick growled. His eyes suddenly widen. "I am, however, hoping this person isn't a sci-fi fan..." he said dramatically, glaring alternatively at Jason, Barbara, and then Tim.

Tim groaned exasperatedly. "If I see a Jabba or an ewok, organic or not, I'm gonna change them back to plastic."

Jason gasped mockingly. "But  _Tim_! There could be creatures like them anywhere else in the universe! It's like we're alone in the whole universe!"

"Oh shut up." Tim snarled at him. "Eh... wait..." a thought suddenly hit him. "They were all man-made, organic, and sentient."

"I seriously could see a lightbulb switched on in his head..." Dick remarked as Tim mulled his thoughts, which promptly changed into the thought of 'what if all humans or magi  _would_  have an image of a lightbulb getting switched on whenever they got a brilliant idea?'

Fortunately the split second question did not interrupt Tim's main line of thoughts at all.

"They weren't supposed to be alive, or sentient, or exist. Or organic. Sizes notwithstanding..." Tim muttered under his breath after the pictures of his thought lined up a little neater in his mind.

"The person has the same powers as yours?" Barbara hazarded a guess.

"I can't make living things out of inanimate ob--" Tim said, and stopped abruptly. "Where is Lex Luthor now?"

"Belle Reve, last I checked," came Bruce's voice. "he's constantly undergoing psychiatric evaluation on daily basis. He's still there and has no contact with either his former associates or employees."

"How well do you trust the staff at Belle Reve?" Tim insisted. "I mean, he managed to make Conner. He's the only one who had managed to turn an effigy - a  _statue_  - into a human being!"

Bruce glared at Tim contemplatively - at least that was what Tim hoped for, and not anger out of Tim's insolence in doubting him.

"The staff at Belle Reve is... commanded by Amanda Waller, a staunch proponent of controlling magickal abilities and artifacts for the good of humankind, regardless of their magickal abilities or lack thereof. She will not let Luthor meddle with anyone under her watch." Bruce explained. "Some things Waller has done that I... generally do not approve of. She is a warlock, you see. But like me, she had opted for protection rather than destruction. Her methods still made me cringe, sometimes. But it is... out of my jurisdiction."

Tim could see that Bruce was gritting his teeth for the last few sentences, and Barbara confirmed his suspicion by saying, "she's like, a government-sanctioned agent. She could and has actually applied the death sentence and perform... experimental methods upon her inmates."

"Oh,"  _now_  Tim cringed, too. It was public secret that the government -  _their_ government - has agencies that were authorized to do things that would be frowned upon by general morality, and that was just Tim's brain being nice. Human experimentation - through magickal or other means - was at the forefront of the reasons. Not surprisingly, death sentence was far further in the list.

Still, there was a more important question in Tim's mind that was not answered by either Bruce or Barbara.

"But do you trust her enough not to use Luthor's abilities for her own advantage?" Tim insisted.

The quiet that followed was punctuated by a distant screech of a bat, as if mocking their sudden silence filled with blatant uncertainty.

"I do not." Bruce finally said after some good long seconds. "I should have given you excuses and reasons on why, but I cannot provide you with answers that will not sound like a cliché."

"Good to know that you're not a typical adult who'd say we youngins should trust our government implicitly and explicitly." Tim deadpanned.

"I wouldn't still be here if he's like that. I'll check if Waller is in any way complicit or in any way behaving differently in the past... well, through the times of the strange goings-on, really. You'll need a broad data points to see patterns, right?" Barbara asked, and Tim froze a little at just how easy it seemed for Barbara to offer an activity that would generally constituted to a 'Big Brother' type of thing. Barbara, probably sensing his uneasiness, smiled and added, "no, Tim, I don't watch her 24/7 deliberately. But we  _do_ live in a kind of Big Brother country, after all.  _She_  was the one suggesting that the government keep watch over all of its citizens."

"Barbara just figured out ways to keep certain people out of the loop, like - you know - what the government itself would do for their secret agents and CIA and stuff." Dick elaborated.

"But if she's like, out of the loop...?" Tim hesitated.

"That's what I did, she can keep the government watching common people and hide her own people - or people like her; but she can't hide from  _me_." Barbara smirked. "The Oracle's Tiara made it possible for me to manipulate cameras and programs to literally show what is hidden. So no, there's no need for me to keep watch on people 24/7. I'm not  _that_ dedicated. Or have nothing better to do with my time..."

"Oh, cool," Tim was interested this time. "If, say, I want to know where Dick is at certain time and date, you can find that out." he ascertained.

"Yes, if I allowed you to. But no, Tim, I don't stalk Dick, either." Barbara chuckled.

"Yeah, no... that was just an example 'cause I think Dick and Bruce - at least - would've been hidden from the government cams, anyway. But... not your cams, right?" Tim spluttered. "I mean, I've made sure that all recordings of me would at least be distorted - if not destroyed - every time I did something magickal in public..."

"...and you've done a very good job that none of us even know of your existence. I figured that if you can hide  _that_  well, it shouldn't be a big trouble for you to figure out how to reverse engineer your trick to find what you want to find, yes?" Bruce hinted, not-so-subtly.

Tim glared at him, blinking owlishly, more lost in his own thoughts than anything else as methods after methods of reverse 'engineering' camera filters started spinning in his mind.

"Right," Bruce nodded. "Just let Barbara know what you need and how we can help." he decided.

"I haven't even say I'll do it!" Tim protested out of habit.

"Your mouth denies it, but your entire body language is already trying to figure out how to solve this, little Timmy!" Dick chuckled. "So let's! I want to know how King Kong came to happen and if I can use it to make a bat that I can ride on!"


	23. Chapter 23

Tim's suspicion didn't pan out. Appallingly. Amanda Waller, even when not hidden by the government's reverse 'Big Brother' watch, did exactly as suspected from someone assigned to 'protect a nation's security'. She went to meetings with people of questionable types, both the clandestine and actually not-so-nice kind of questionable; she went to secret meetings, and not-so-secret meetings with government-looking people. And so on and so forth. Watching her activities was literally like looking at a generic spy movie. By the end of the footages, Tim could tell who was actually following her, which of them were friendlies, which of them were not.

"If it's any consolation, I'm sure she, too, knows which of them are friendlies, which are not." Barbara told him, smiling.

"Yeeeah... I just... I-- I saw Conner's energy, Babs, I'm sure." Tim sighed. "There are several possibilities: one is that his soul was trying to return. But Jason said if a familiar is perished, its soul would simply perish into the magi; making the magi more powerful. If the magi is killed, well... that's it. Done and dusted. If a magi died peacefully, there's always a chance that the familiar will get inherited. Conner was an effigy, technically. When he died, he would've gotten absorbed into Clark... and Clark would have known it..." he stopped at the unspoken question in Barbara's face. "Uh... yeah, I asked Jason what happened if a familiar is killed or something. Because I wanna know what happened to my mom's familiar..."

"Janet was a fae-magi. She didn't have a familiar." Barbara stated, looking even more puzzled than before. "Jason said she had one?"

"Yeah, he said she took my dad's rejected familiar." Tim told her. "She never showed you?"

"I was under the impression that, yeah, all magi would like to show off their familiars. And since Jan never did, I thought she didn't have one." Barbara explained. "Now I'm wondering what her familiar was... But anyway. Okay, here's a hole in your theory of the energy being Conner's. If his soul - or what equates as his 'soul' after he was brought to life."

"...And for the record, once a being is sentient, it has a soul." Jason interrupted, walking in next to Zitka - the latter looking like a grey hairless St Bernard next to Jason. "Right, Zitka?" he added once he noticed Tim's sight on the elephant. Zitka trumpeted what sounded like an exclamation point.

"Okay, even effigies?"

"Effigies' soul differ only in color and wavelength. We usually have similar colors to our respective magi, likely in lighter tones. Effigies tend to display the color of its maker - the literal crafter. If the magi is, like, red; and the maker is yellow, the effigy could be orange, instead, or striped or polka-dotted." Jason explained.

"Ooo--kay..." Barbara drawled. "That's... and who can tell the colors of a magickal person?" she wanted to know.

Jason shrugged, "a magi whose powers are of light spectrum? I dunno, that's just how it was explained to me. I never actually asked how."

"You're not helping..." Tim grumbled. "But wait! We all saw the flash of colors, of Bart's, and of Conner's, in the video footage, didn't we?"

"Yes we did..." Barbara grinned. "Oooh, hey, looks like we might just found out how and what magick, real or metaphorical, to use." she added, tapping several commands into her keyboard. "Alright, here's an image of Luthor. I'm using the same filters I used for the CCTV footage of then..."

It was a short footage, extended using the slow-motion filters required to capture what happened to Bart a few days ago. The only difference was that since Lex Luthor did not move in super-high speed like Bart did, the footage took a good long ten seconds to show the soft red light around him.

"Okay," Barbara stopped the footage. "I saw red. You?" Jason and Tim nodded, and Zitka snorted slightly. "Now we do Clark's." she said, putting a different footage, this one of Clark flying over Metropolis in high speed.

"Blue, like Conner's. I toldja it was Conner the other day... If I could see him, that means he's still alive!" Tim nodded in satisfaction. "What?" he demanded when he realized that Barbara was still glaring at him.

"I never knew that, and I've known Clark for a good long while. How did you know Conner's color? Or Bart's?" she asked curiously. "Bart explained that his connection with the Speed Force allowed him to see people's soul - a  _magi's_  soul, that is. He couldn't see the souls of people who has no magick. We actually tried that filter on his suggestion. But... you saw the footage and promptly pre-recognized Bart and the other color signature. How?"

Tim blinked. He never realized that he could. He looked at Jason for answers.

"Oh no, you're not gonna blame  _me_  for that! I can tell if a person is a magi or not and/or whether they have embraced and/or cultivated their magicks. But I don't know the spectrum of their powers." Jason protested.

Barbara was glaring at him, still, and it made Tim a little uneasy. "What... I don't know how. I just do. And it's just like, for the kids I hang out with..." Tim replied lamely. "I mean, Bart and I-- and Cassie and Conner... we've been friends for a good long while. Rachel just kinda dropped by right thereafter, and when Rachel met us, I already know each of Bart, Cassie, and Conner's colors and stuff.

"Maybe it's something he picked up for hanging out with them for a good long while?" Jason suggested. "Still..." he paused to think.

Barbara picked up where he'd paused. "Still that would mean that you have another aspect of your magick that you probably haven't developed. I'll figure out how you can develop it... or maybe Jason can look through the texts, 'cause I don't think that's the kind of knowledge that's been archived digitally." she said, turning toward her workspace.

Tim didn't even realize he was still blinking owlishly without really looking at Barbara until Jason waved his hand in front of Tim's face. "What??" he demanded.

"I just watched your brain doing the search Babs suggested, reboot itself, and does the search again to no avail. So no, Timmy, I don't have the information yet, either. So let's just do something we  _know_  what to do, before delving into the unknown." Jason remarked.

"Which is?" the question was rather moot, because Tim already know the answer.

" _I'm_  gonna go consult the words written on paper. You, well, you can take a nap. Actually,  _please_  take a nap. I'm exhausted just by looking at you being tired."

The remark made Tim yawn. He didn't even realize how tired he was until Jason pointed it out.

"Bed, yes?" Jason said.

"How is it you're the one in tune with my feelings?" Tim grumbled, but didn't resist when Jason pulled him and semi-dragged him out of the cave toward the bedrooms.

"It's my job. Or genes. Whatever floats your boat, Timbit. Also  _your_  tune with yourself is more out of wack than most people. But that's a rant for another time..."

"You gonna go to the library or stay with me?" Tim's mouth said. Or maybe his brain. At this point, he couldn't be sure anymore. "Whatever 'it' is, Jay, you know we gotta bring Conner home... He's alive. I knew it. I can't see dead people's colors..." he insisted sleepily as Jason shoved him onto the bed.

"I'll stay, the books can come to me." Jason replied, tucking the blankets around Tim and then tucked himself next to Tim.

"I forgot you can magick, too..." Tim mumbled as he relished on the probably-10-thousand-thread-count cotton that is the Wayne family's bedsheets. He was out within seconds, not even knowing if Jason had actually stayed or not. The only thing that signaled Jason's presence was his body's warmth.

* * *

Conner walked in to the Wayne Manor. Or flew in. Usually he would fly in, Tim knew. But his brain just wasn't awake enough to make the distinction or even to remember which bedroom he'd been sleeping in. Or if it's day or night.

Or if he was actually awake or asleep, and the sight before him was a mere dream.

Until the bed tilted and Jason poked his cheek, hard, and said, "Okay, we're good. He's conscious, I think."

"I hope so," Conner replied.

"Good dream." Tim retorted. "Now will you please just let me wake up so I don't have to feel sad that Conner isn't really-- What the hell!" --he yelped angrily when someone out of his line of vision slapped him. He blinked a few times, before his eyes finally focused to a mop of blonde-ness next to him. "Stephanie??"

"He's definitely awake, now." Stephanie grinned triumphantly.

"Weee--ll... If I were the one slapping him, he'd be unconscious again."

Tim was sitting up by then, belatedly clutching the blanket around his hips when he realized that someone - probably Jason - had changed his day-clothes to an oversized sleep-shirt and nothing else but his boxers.

"It's not like I've never seen you sleep, before..." Conner remarked, snickering.

"It's... he's-- what--" Tim spluttered coherently, one finger pointing at Conner. He looked at Jason, and then Stephanie. "I'm dreaming, right? I mean, there's Conner, and you-- you're not supposed to be even here... This has got to be some sort of subliminal wish of mine and all..."

Jason rubbed Tim's hair absently, eyes still practically glued to the tablet Tim didn't even see him carrying. "Don't worry about it, Timbit. It's not a dream and you can be in denial all you want."

Conner took a seat at the foot of the bed. "I'm... real, buddy. I'm... there's a long story behind this and I think I'll wait until Mr Alfred brings you coffee so you can be a bit more... coherent."

Stephanie scoffed. "Oh, he's coherent, alright. He doesn't believe that we're here because... apparently Jason said I shouldn't get anywhere within 20 miles radius of magick stuff. By the way--" Stephanie turned to Tim, "Harper is downstairs with Cullen - her brother. You never knew that Cullen is actually a magi, do you?"

"No," Tim admitted. Before he could say anything else, the bedroom door opened and Alfred walked in regally while pushing a trolley.

...And Harper Row walking a few steps behind him, a little less regally as she announced, "Coffee, anyone? Mr Pennyworth here liked my waffle recipe and since we don't have chocolate chips, raisins will have to do for now."

The smell of coffee and butter permeated the air, making Tim a little more certain that he was not, in fact, dreaming.

"But... but... but... --how...?" he asked meekly as a tray of coffee with a pile of waffles was placed on his lap. "...and I gotta pee. Just... give me a second, Alfred, please." he warned. Alfred lifted the tray back up and Tim leaped out of the bed, completely forgetting about the boxers until both Stephanie and Harper whistled wolfishly and Conner chortled.

"Never knew you're the batman-boxer type, Tim!" Harper called out. Tim zoned her out and slammed the bathroom door closed.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... yeah, this is why I was reluctant to post anything that's not completed. But here's the next to last chapter, which is nearly complete. Here's hoping that adulting don't take too much of my braincells to finish the 25th chapter!

The fresh, cold water from the tap finally made him realize that he was wholly, fully awake and conscious. He had not slept for more than an hour in the past few days, since deciding that Amanda Waller was suspicious and thus, he had to review  _all_  footages of her that Barbara has, in order to find evidence. He had only walked out of the chair for potty breaks. Or when Jason or Dick would bodily lift him out of the chair to take a walk around the cave - "to let blood flow  _around_  his body, Tim, not just to pool at your ankles!"

Once he was done scrubbing, he opened the bathroom door with trepidation, fearing that the whole thing was, in fact, a dream.

Jason was the first in his line of vision, still sitting on the bed, slouching forward toward the tablet in concentration. Then Alfred, still partially standing next to the bed - apparently waiting to see if Tim would come back to bed for his tray of breakfast. Harper and Stephanie were next, plating the rest of the waffles and pouring something onto it.

And then Conner, sitting on the windowsills with a plate of waffles on his hand. "If you're just gonna gawk there, I'm gonna finish the rest of these waffles!" Conner called cheerily and waved with a fork in his hand. "Oh, sorry, Mr Alfred, sir.." he added after catching what Tim presumed to be Alfred's disapproving glare.

Tim walked out slowly from the bathroom, but was still able to catch the pants Jason threw at him. He didn't put them on and instead made a beeline toward Conner.

"Conner...?" he called quietly.

"Yeah?"

"You're dead."

Conner grinned impishly. "I was, but I got better."

"But-- but... how...?" Tim wanted to know.

"Coffee first, I'd say, Master Timothy. Master Conner can explain it while you eat." Alfred remarked, handing a mug of coffee into Tim's hand and firmly placed Tim on a chair. Tim's eyes didn't leave Conner, even as he took a sip of the thankfully-not-so-scalding coffee so strong he could feel his brain started to work as the caffeine passed his throat.

"The spellbooks." Tim decided. "Jason! You found something in it!"

"Well, as much as I'd like to take the credit of bringing Conner back to life, I have to say I didn't." Jason replied distractedly.

"He did, however, brought me back from the future." Conner said. "Clark didn't think that I could come back, either. I mean, his heart is definitely in the right place and all..."

"Whoa, wait! Start from the top!" Stephanie protested, and added when she caught Tim's questioning eyes. "...and then I'll explain why Harper and I are here. I wanna hear his side of the story, too."

"Okay..." Tim agreed and glared at Conner. "Start from the top. Like, when you were dead. --Or rather 'when we all thought you were dead'."

"You gonna record this, aren't you? So I don't have to repeat myself when we go and see Cassie and Bart and Rachel? I mean, I haven't exactly gone and meet anyone other than those dudes and the Batman, yet. I mean, I almost freaked out! I mean, dude! The dude is a warlock and--"

"Conner!" Tim, Stephanie, and Harper chorused.

"Oh, right. Dead. Me. Well, anyway. I can't literally die, apparently. Like, there's something about the way I was made that made me can't totally die. Like, you know, a fairy and stuff. As long as there are people who believed in me, I'm gonna live and stuff. Just that my physical body was extremely damaged and I can't just literally go out and get into another body like a ghost. Or a spirit..." Conner explained. "I didn't know this until I wake up on the other side, so to speak. I was alone for a really,  _really_ short time - so I thought. But when I woke up - like, physically woke up - it was year 3000 or so."

"Seriously??" Harper gasped. "Do they have flying cars then--?"

"Harp! Shut up!" Stephanie swatted her.

"I don't know if they have flying cars or not. They said I shouldn't look outside or see what's going on, because I was going to be summoned back to the era I belong to..." Conner said, caught Tim's eyes, and corrected himself. "Okay, that was point M or N or so. I woke up a millennium from this year, and the people who met me there is called the Legion. Evidently, when I'd died, Clark or Kara or somebody placed my body in this device that had come with him when he landed here on earth. Said device fixed my body on a molecular level - but it took a literal thousand years. It would work on people who are comatose, generally, but it works best with Kryptonian.

"I spent like, a few months there, in which they told me of that - that I shouldn't go out of the compound because I was going to be called back here. They didn't tell me how or why, they just told me that there are people who believed in me so much that they would do everything to bring me back.

"When the spell of... I don't know what it's called, really. But it pulled on me and not the others, and they were watching and like making observations closely and stuff. It pulled to the point where I could see you all; Cassie, Bart, you... and I could only look at you guys and not touch or make myself heard. That went on for weeks.

"But then I noticed that whenever Bart is running, I could see his colors starting to match with mine. I could  _feel_  his speed - like the wake of his runs in the air brushing against my skin. So I thought I could maybe touch him, and I started trying to figure out where our matches were the strongest - and it turned out to be in your brownstone, you know? I swear I'd only poked him, and he went exploding through your window and all that..." Conner looked apologetic, and Tim tried to hide the heat that was rising into his eyes behind the coffee mug.

"The scary thing is that after I did that to Bart, I kinda de-materialized on the other side, you know? Like, on the year-three-thousand side. They said it was because I had touched the Speed Force and am now tainted by it, and there was no record ever of anyone or anything actually  _touching_  the Speed Force. They didn't know what to do, either, and said that all I and they could do was pray that someone should be... should  _believe_  in me enough to want me back..." Conner smiled ruefully. "I kinda feel like a fairy, now."

"Fairies get their wings when somebody said they believed in it, I think... that's how the lore goes, isn't it?" Harper remarked.

"Fairies..." Jason grumbled, finally deciding to join them near the table. "The little things you all called 'fairy' are imps. There is no such thing as a fa--" The chorus of gasps from Stephanie, Harper, and Conner stopped him mid-sentence. "What??"

"Don't  _say_  that!" Stephanie chided. "What if Conner disappear again?"

"Really," Jason rolled his eyes. "I mean it. There are fae people. But there is no such thing as the little things with wings you all called 'fairy'.

"Matter-at-hand, people!" Tim snapped his fingers impatiently. "What happened after you were told you're tainted by the Speed Force?"

Annoyingly, Conner shrugged. "No idea. All that I knew was that I suddenly felt the pulls like before, and one second I was describing what I was feeling and seeing to the Legion guys - which was a lot of purples and yellows and blues; the next second I was looking at these three--" he thumbed towards Harper and Stephanie. "--two. Three with her brother. Apparently, they were conjuring the demon and I get to be the demon."

"First, you're a fairy. Next you're a demon. Make up your mind." Jason deadpanned.

"You were--" Tim barely caught the word 'conjuring' from escaping his mouth, but realized what it meant. "I've told you not to fool around with magick!" he scowled at Stephanie, who somehow managed to look indignant yet sheepish. "What if you'd called in a real demon??" Even as he said it, something else caught his mind. "Plus-- wait! Let me finish! Was this the first time you did that?"

This time, Harper shrugged, "Well, yes and no..."

"Harp! Shut up!" Stephanie hissed. "They don't need to know the fails!"

Jason eventually caught up with what was in Tim's mind. "Oooh... no, no, no. We  _do_  want to know of the fails, too." he said sweetly. "Just so we know what  _not_  to do if we need to do something like this next time - which, given the plethora of odd sightings in the past month, we might need something like this..."

Stephanie huffed. "Fine, since you said we shouldn't do seances - it was a  _seance_ , by the way; the Rows wanted to contact their mom - we've only done it like twice before. Both failed and we don't know why."

"Did you log anything? What you did, what you used?" Tim asked, trying to keep the slight disappointment from his voice. If they had only done it twice, they wouldn't have been the culprit from the strange creatures that appeared in the past month.

Harper scoffed, "Of course I did. It's science, after all. Besides, it's not like we have access to the almighty Wayne Library for magick to see if we'd done the right thing or not!" she replied, producing a tablet. "I think it was the timing. Last night was full moon - blood moon. It wasn't so before."

"Blood moon," Jason mumbled.

"Care to share with the class, Jason?" Conner prompted. "Like, you know things we don't?"

"I know a lot of things  _you_  don't, farm boy, that's given. But..." Jason turned to Alfred, who was standing by refilling coffee and tea mugs silently with a pair of seemingly bottomless pots. "...Blood Moon. That's how the Speed Force maintained their presence, isn't it, Alfred?"

"So the lore says, Master Jason," Alfred nodded solemnly.

"So... sheer luck that your conjuring was done when the Speed Force was heavy in the air, and that Conner was tainted with the Speed Force..." Tim concluded.

Harper snorted. "Sheer luck! Don't insult us..."

"No, not insulting. It's just... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend. It's just..." Tim trailed off, and Jason picked up.

"...just that you didn't really know of the Speed Force, and did the conjuring, and pulled the right undead through the Time Sphere. I'd call that luck, too." he said. "The old records would note of irregular circumstances that would make a spell work; and the modern folks like us can figure out what or when things actually happen..."

"We need to tell Barbara." Tim decided, promptly got up from his chair and made toward the door. "She'll have the firepower needed to figure it out. Like the crop circles.  _With_  the crop circles. We'll figure out who did all these, why, when, how, and where!" he continued, ignoring the blank, confused stares of the others in the room. "Come on, Jason! We can explain later!"

From the corner of his eyes, Tim still could see Jason giving a shrug to the others as he got up to follow.  _Never mind,_  he thought,  _they'll see I'm right when Barbara confirms things._


End file.
